


Sweet Dreams Are Made Of This

by queenofkadara



Series: An Unquenchable Flame: Solas and Nare Lavellan (for Elbenherz) [1]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, Dom/sub Undertones, Eventual Happy Ending, F/M, Gentle Dom!Solas is my JAM, Hair-pulling, I promise it will be okay, Masturbation, Mild Angst, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-22
Updated: 2020-05-11
Packaged: 2021-02-28 20:27:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 27,382
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23253193
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/queenofkadara/pseuds/queenofkadara
Summary: Solas didn’t plan this.He didn’t plan to be enraptured by her. He didn’t plan to let her guileless ocean-blue eyes lure him in so thoroughly that he nearly forgot his dreaded name.But then, Solas’s plans have never quite gone the way he hoped.*****************In other words: Solas capitulates to the temptation of Nare Lavellan’s loving arms. A short-three part fic (all NSFW) with minor angst and an overall happy ending.
Relationships: Female Inquisitor/Solas (Dragon Age), Female Lavellan/Solas
Series: An Unquenchable Flame: Solas and Nare Lavellan (for Elbenherz) [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1625761
Comments: 101
Kudos: 219





	1. Bedroll

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Elvesinmyheart](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elvesinmyheart/gifts).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have already written a number of fics about Nare Lavellan and Solas, which you can read [in this series, ](https://archiveofourown.org/series/1625761)but this is the story of how they first ~~get it on for the first time~~ get together.

###  SOLAS 

Nare was combing her hair. 

She was humming to herself as she drew the comb through her hair – long auburn hair that fell in lustrous locks almost to the small of her back. Her hair was a deep, rich, copper-russet-amber that there was no good word for in the common tongue, and Solas could only imagine what it would feel like to twine his fingers in the long auburn strands. 

He smoothed out his bedroll and pretended not to watch as the comb made its hypnotic way along the length of her hair. He sat cross-legged on his bedroll and pulled out a small book about veilfire runes from his satchel, but before he could settle into the book – or try to, given the immense distraction he was facing – Nare spoke to him. 

“Are you sure you want to share a tent with me?” she said. “I talk in my sleep sometimes.”

He looked up to find her smiling. He set the book aside and tilted his head. “Interesting. Do you recall encountering any conversational spirits in your dreams?”

Her face softened with surprise. Then she snorted a laugh. “You’re teasing me. Well, if I wake you up saying all kinds of nonsense, just know you’ve been warned.”

He smiled at her, then picked up his book and opened it to the first page. A minute later – a minute during which he was completely preoccupied by the soft susurrus of her comb moving through the strands of her hair – he looked up at her once more. “I believe the fairer question is if you are certain you wish to share a tent with _me,_ ” he said. “You could have shared with Cassandra, if you preferred. Or had a tent to yourself. You are the Inquisitor; you’re entitled to a tent of your own.”

“Oh, that’s all right,” she said. “I don’t mind sharing with you.”

She wasn’t meeting his eye, however, and her cheeks were turning faintly pink. All at once, Solas was certain that she was thinking about the same thing as he: the kiss they had shared in the Fade a month ago. 

That breathtaking, toe-curling, utterly unplanned kiss that left him completely desperate for her and completely panicked. 

He hadn’t meant to kiss her. He _hadn’t_ kissed her, in fact; Nare had been the one to initiate the kiss, and if Solas was honest, he was still rather shocked that she’d done it, given how demure she usually was when they were alone.

But her usual modesty only made her boldness in the dream all the more alluring. _Bold_ , yes: that was the word for the kiss she’d given him. Her fingers were firm on his cheek as she turned his face toward her, and her hands fisting in his collar were assertive. But his own response had been even bolder: pulling her against his chest, sliding his hand over the dip of her spine toward the curves of her bottom, pressing his thigh between her legs to make her gasp against his lips– 

His cock stirred in his breeches, and he hastily adjusted his position on his bedroll so she wouldn’t notice. _I was too bold,_ he scolded himself. Returning her kiss had been far too bold. Stupid, even. Impulsive and ill-considered, like the behaviour of a new _elgar’venathe_ just getting used to having a body. 

“Solas?”

He jolted from his heated reverie and met her gaze. She had stopped combing her hair, and she was looking at him. 

“Yes?” he said.

She hesitated, then dropped his gaze and ran the comb through her hair once more. “Oh, nothing. I just… was wondering what you were, um, thinking about.”

 _I was thinking about you,_ he thought. He couldn’t stop thinking about her, and it wasn’t just this moment with her lush waves of hair tumbling over her shoulders and down her slender back. It was the way her eyes widened when he described some of his forays in the Fade to her. It was the way she took such pleasure in stepping barefoot into a cool stream, as though she’d never felt anything so blissful as the water between her toes. It was the way she bit her lower lip when she was thinking or when she was nervous, making Solas think of how it would feel to have that lush lower lip of hers between his own teeth. 

It was that kiss in the Fade – that foolish, impulsive kiss that should never have happened. But now that it had, he couldn’t think logically about anything else. 

She was still waiting for a response. Solas tilted his head. “I was thinking that it has been many years since I’ve watched anyone dressing their hair,” he said. It wasn’t untrue, after all.

She raised her eyebrows. “Did you often used to watch women dressing their hair?”

Her tone was playful, and Solas allowed himself a smirk. “Women are not the only ones who dress their hair in an elaborate fashion,” he told her. His memory conjured some of the more ornate braids and styles that nobles used to wear back in Arlathan: hairstyles dressed with gems and shimmering filigree and feathers from the creatures that Andruil caught in her hunts. 

He shunted the bittersweet memory aside; it was neither here nor there. What _was_ here was Nare, and she was grinning at him. 

“So you used to just watch people dressing their hair?” she said. “That’s a special sort of hobby.”

Her grin was cheeky, and Solas smiled faintly. “You misunderstand me,” he said. “I mean only to say that I… have not been in such close quarters with anyone else for some time.” He cleared his throat surreptitiously; that was more than he had intended to admit.

Her grin softened to a gentle smile, and she was quiet for a moment as she ran the comb through her hair. Then she lowered the comb once more. “Nice try, Solas. I know the truth.”

His heart jolted with alarm, but Nare wasn’t finished. “You’re watching me comb my hair because you’re envious, aren’t you?”

Without quite meaning to, he let out a little laugh. “Quite the opposite. My lack of hair allows me to keep cool in hotter climes.”

“A likely excuse,” Nare said playfully. “You wish you knew what it was like to have this much hair to comb, don’t you?”

He smiled more widely at her. “It is not an excuse, I assure you. And I am very competent at the dressing of hair.”

Her eyes widened. “Are you really?”

“I am, in fact,” he said. “I am a man of many talents.” 

The instant the words left his lips, he regretted them – especially when Nare’s ocean-blue eyes grew even wider. _Fenedhis,_ he shouldn’t be flirting with her; he shouldn’t be indulging in the warm feeling that this suggestive banter was rousing in his chest. But flirting with Nare just felt so good. 

Not just flirting with her, in fact. Talking to her, walking alongside her, hearing her making decisions about the Inquisition, watching the thoughts as they flickered across her face like fireflies: everything about Nare felt good, a sort of good that he hadn’t felt in ages – if he’d ever really felt _this_ good before. 

She chuckled; she was blushing now. “Well, I think you need to prove it,” she said.

He raised his eyebrows. Now it was _his_ turn to be surprised. “Excuse me?” he said.

She nibbled her lower lip, rousing an unwelcome and undeniably pleasant buzz of warmth low in his belly. Then held out the comb to him. “Prove it. Here, _you_ comb my hair.”

He stared at the comb in her hand. He should say no. He shouldn’t be agreeing to touch her, precisely because the exact thing he wanted to do right now was touch her. He ought to politely decline; it was a mistake to get close to her.

He opened his mouth to say no. “All right,” he said instead. “You will have your proof.” He took the comb from her. 

She beamed at him, then turned around on her bedroll to face the side of the tent, and Solas shifted his position so that he was kneeling behind her. Carefully and gently, so as not to touch her neck, he lifted a tress of Nare’s hair. 

It was just as silky as it looked: a heavy curtain of russet strands that shone with warm golden highlights in the soft light of the alchemical lamp. Solas ran the comb carefully along the length of her hair, savouring the way it slid smoothly through his fingers, then lifted another lock and combed it carefully from root to tip. 

He lifted a third lock of hair, skimming her scalp with his fingertips in the process, and Nare gasped.

Solas stopped breathing. The gasp was miniscule: a tiny catching of her breath, so soft that he almost didn’t notice – soft enough that he _would_ have failed to notice, were he not acutely aware of everything about her body right now. He was aware of the straightness of her spine, the slightly rapid rate of her breathing, the fact that he could detect no outline of a breastband or bustier through her light linen tunic. Thus, when Nare gasped at the grazing touch of his fingers on her scalp, he _noticed_. 

He exhaled slowly and silently as he combed the lock of hair. He reached for another tress, and against his better judgment, he stroked her scalp more firmly this time as he lifted it. 

She inhaled shakily, then shifted on her bedroll in a restless sort of way, and Solas’s unruly manhood straightened in his breeches. He silently cursed himself as he combed her hair, cursing his disobedient body and his disobedient hands as they touched her and his disobedient thoughts as they strayed to the idea of pressing his teeth into the tender nape of her neck. 

He ran the comb through her hair again. Then, almost absent-mindedly, almost as though he wasn’t in control of his own hands, he lifted another lock of hair and gently wound it around his fingers. 

He pulled her hair gently, very slowly and _very_ gently, and Nare gasped again. It was a clear, sharp sound this time, and one that he couldn’t pretend not to notice, not when Nare immediately covered her mouth.

 _She likes when her hair is pulled._ The thought rang through his mind, clearer and more compelling than the sweetest note of a song, and Solas swallowed hard and fought to keep his voice calm. “Did I hurt you?” he asked. His cock was pulsing, and his ears were feeling hot, and he was half-praying that she would tell him to give back her comb and get out of this tent. He was half-praying that she would tell him to stop, because it was becoming increasingly clear that _he_ wouldn’t be able to stop of his own accord. 

“No,” she blurted, to his mixed delight and dismay. “No, it didn’t hurt. It– you, um…” She trailed off and took a breath. “You were right. You’re… good at this.”

“Thank you,” he murmured. “Would you like me to continue?”

“Yes,” she said eagerly. So Solas continued to comb her hair, running his fingernails lightly over her scalp and pulling gently at her hair before every sweep of the comb. With every pass of the comb, her spine became just a little more arched, and Solas’s impatient and foolish manhood grew harder and more insistent. 

By the time he had finished combing her hair, her head was tilted back to expose her throat and her eyes were closed, and her breathing was slow but deep. She was exquisite: poised like the absolute perfect picture of desire, like a flawless visual representation of what the word _please_ looked like, and Solas was so busy berating himself and his own undisciplined cock for bringing them both to this terrible position that he almost couldn’t enjoy how beautiful she was.

 _Almost._

He stared at her with a confusing mixture of smug satisfaction and self-loathing as he lowered the comb to his lap. “I am finished, Nare,” he said quietly. “Your hair is combed.”

She inhaled slowly and didn’t reply, and Solas forced himself to breathe through the ravenous roar of his impatient urges. He held out the comb to her. “Here,” he said. 

She turned around halfway and took the comb from his hand. “Thank you,” she said faintly. Then she pulled her hair over one shoulder and began to braid it. 

He stared wordlessly at the exposed line of her neck as it sloped into her shoulder. That perfect, smooth, pale line of her neck that his mouth was watering to taste… 

He exhaled slowly. Then he realized that her eyes were on his face.

He met her gaze, and the air stalled in his lungs once more. She was staring at him, staring at him more heatedly than anyone had looked at him in countless ages, and the longer he returned her stare, the more stunned he felt by her attention. She was bright and brilliant and beautiful and ripe, and so very incredibly young. 

Too bright and beautiful and young for the Dread Wolf to risk tearing apart. 

He bowed his head briefly, dropping her scorching gaze in the process. “Goodnight, Inquisitor,” he said.

For a telling and heartbreaking moment, her face fell. Then she smiled. “Goodnight, Solas,” she said. “Thank you for the, um, assistance.”

He nodded politely, then turned to his bedroll. He pulled off his outer tunic, leaving only the cooler sleeveless undershirt behind, then hastily slid into the bedroll and rolled onto his side facing away from her. 

For a long, excruciating minute, Nare was silent. Then he heard the soft shuffling sounds as she settled into her own bedroll. A moment later, the alchemical lamp went dark.

Solas opened his eyes. In the darkness of their shared tent, he could hear her quiet breathing: slow, deep breaths, the same as when he’d been combing her hair. 

The sort of slow, deep breathing that he was using himself to try and cool his own terrible urges.

He closed his eyes. _I am not this man,_ he scolded himself. He was not the sort of man to wind his fingers so shamelessly in a woman’s hair. He was not the sort of man to pull that woman’s hair for the sheer pleasure of hearing her lustful breaths. He might once have been that man, once upon a time when he was young and new and impatient to feel everything that a body could possibly feel. But this was not Arlathan, and he was no longer a hot-headed fool. He was Solas now, a quiet and reclusive apostate. He was not the sort of man who flirted with a beautiful younger woman and gloried in her brilliant smile. And he was certainly not the sort of man who wrapped his fingers around his own throbbing cock the second he was presented with a beautiful woman that he couldn’t – _shouldn't_ – have. 

And yet, here he was: lying on his side in his bedroll with the most distracting pulse between his legs, and his own hand moving slowly over his belly to curl around his aching shaft. 

He squeezed his cock. A jolt of pleasure rippled up toward his throat, and he forced himself not to react. _It is just to relieve the pressure,_ he thought. Just to keep himself reasonable and calm while sharing a tent with the Inquisitor. He certainly wasn’t going to bring himself to completion, not with Nare lying less than a meter away. Not with Nare lying there in her bedroll wearing only her leggings and her light linen shirt – the linen shirt that he knew was the only barrier hiding her skin from sight. Not when Nare was lying right there with her silken russet hair braided demurely on her pillow – beautiful russet hair that Solas wanted so badly to take in his fists… 

A tempting image suddenly appeared at the backs of his eyelids: Nare on her knees in front of him with her head tilted back, just like she was a few minutes ago. His own hand twined in her long thick hair, just like it was a few minutes ago. But instead of wearing her leggings and linen shirt, she was naked. 

A pulse of longing swelled in his throat and his chest and his cock. He slid his palm up along his shaft, and another wave of bliss fanned through his abdomen.

He pressed his lips together hard so he wouldn’t make a sound, then stroked himself again, but this time the pleasure was tainted by shame. _That’s enough,_ he thought; this was just meant to lessen the pressure a bit, to calm himself enough to resume his role as the polite and mild-mannered man that Nare had come to expect during their travels together. 

But his heated thoughts wouldn’t leave him be. In the darkness of his closed eyelids, he could imagine her so clearly: her pale throat entrapped by his fingers, her knees spreading wider with every gentle tug of her hair, and her plump lips parting to whisper his name… 

He stroked his cock again and again, and the rush of pleasure was nearly enough to render him lightheaded. Then Nare sighed. 

Solas froze. When ten tense seconds ticked by and there was no further sound from Nare, aside from the slow and gentle breathing of sleep, he released his manhood and rolled quietly onto his back. 

He rested his head on his arms – all the better to keep his hands where he could control them – then opened his eyes. The tent was dark, but his eyesight was keen even so, and he could clearly see the shape of her cheek and the curves of her eyelashes. He could clearly see the shape of her braid traversing her pillow to coil over her shoulder, and he could clearly see the slow rise and fall of her breasts as she breathed, and–

And a rush of shame curdled in his belly. He shouldn’t be staring at her like this. He was Solas, the quiet apostate who was trying to stay incognito, and Nare was the infamous Inquisitor. He was old and timeworn and saddled with ulterior motives, and Nare was young and determined and free of guile. 

He was the Dread Wolf, and Nare was bright and beautiful and so obvious in her wish for him to take her that it made his heart ache. 

He turned his face away from her and breathed slowly, then forced himself to count the ins and outs of his own ragged breaths until the throbbing of his cock ebbed down to an even pulse. Eventually he fell into a restless sort of half-sleep, a suspended state between waking and sleeping, but the thoughts of Nare only felt stronger here; they flowed incessantly through his half-conscious mind like a current of heated desire and heavy regret, and with his guard down and his muscles starting to relax with the softness of sleep, his firmly-shunted wants began to whisper more insistently in his ear.

He didn’t _want_ to just be the mild-mannered apostate who talked to Nare about the Fade and bade her a polite goodnight at the end of the day. He didn’t want to lie so chastely beside her in the isolation of their separate bedrolls. He wanted to be the man who fisted his fingers in the fiery mass of her hair and who slid his hand over the smoothness of her belly to feel the slippery heat between her legs. He wanted to be the man that Nare desired so strongly that she was driven to kiss him in the Fade, despite her usual demure demeanour.

And once again, he was reliving that kiss, reliving the glory of that unexpected and unplanned moment when her lips were pulling at his own and her fingers were gripping his vest and his knee was nudging her thighs apart… 

Here in the Fade, the memories were melding with fantasies and thoughts. In this blissful melding of memory and imagination, Nare was rolling her hips against his thigh, and his cock was growing harder and more insistent with her every thrust, and she was naked: naked and flushed with her rosy-tipped breasts and her rosy lips parted and panting. Her hands were sliding down his chest and over the ridge in his breeches, and both of them were breathing together in the kiss, and she was saying his name, breathing his own name against his lips: _Solas. Solas…_

Her hand was stroking his cock. Her fingers were skimming his cheek. Desperate and riled, he turned his face toward her touch. “Nare,” he breathed.

“Solas?” 

He hummed an affirmative and lifted his hips toward her coaxing hand. Her thumb was drifting across his lips, and he darted his tongue out to taste her, drawing a shuddery sort of gasp from her throat. 

Her gasp, her pleasured and pleading gasp: it was such a blissful sound, the finest sound he’d yet heard in this staid and static world. He hummed with satisfaction and thrust into her hand again, but… 

But it wasn’t her hand he was pressing his cock into. 

He opened his eyes. The hand stroking his cock was his own. And Nare wasn’t naked and riding his thigh; she was wearing her leggings and her light linen shirt, and she was kneeling on the ground beside him. 

He froze – completely froze as though he’d been struck by a curse. But before he could speak or move or feel anything other than a numb sort of horror, Nare was leaning over him and stroking his cheek.

“It’s all right, it’s all right,” she whispered hurriedly. “I – I’m so sorry to wake you, I just–”

“Nare,” he croaked. He hauled his hand out of his breeches and sat up halfway. “I didn’t intend – my apologies. If you’ll excuse–” 

She gripped his collar and kissed him. 

A rush of heat roared through his entire body from his ears through his throbbing cock and straight down to his toes. He parted his lips on sheer instinct, but before he could taste her with his tongue, she pulled away and covered her mouth with both hands. 

“Shit,” she squeaked. “Creators, I – I’m sorry. You were sleeping, I shouldn’t have – oh gods…”

He stared stupidly at her. Her voice was distinctly breathless, and that look was on her face once more, that open and eager and wide-eyed look of wanting, and his mind was muddied with sleep and with the howling desire that was pulsing through his blood. 

Without any further thought, without any further logic or reasoning or shame, he cupped the back of her neck in one palm and pulled her into a kiss. 

She moaned into his mouth and clasped his wrist. Her other hand was stroking his face, and then she was shifting her body as they kissed, stretching out beside him and pressing her groin against his thigh, and it was all so much like his dream. Her fingers on his face, her kiss, the eager way she was riding against his leg: it was all so uncannily like his dream that it nearly felt surreal. 

She sat up and peeled her shirt off, and another dizzying rush of lust roared through his limbs and his cock. He stared at her, at the bare rounded curves of her breasts and the crowning glory of her budded nipples, and in the dark and the quiet of the night, he started to wonder if… if perhaps this _was_ a dream. Perhaps he was still asleep, drifting in that lightheaded limbo between the static world and the Fade. Here in the darkness of the tent, who could say he wasn’t enjoying a particularly vivid dream? In the darkness provided by these canvas walls, who could say that he wasn’t still asleep? 

He skimmed his thumb along the curve of her breast, and she let out a little moan. Then her fingers were gripping his free hand, pulling his hand over his own belly toward his breeches… 

His breath hitched with excitement. Then Nare leaned over him and licked his lower lip. “Please,” she whispered. “Keep going.” 

Without thinking, without question, he slid his hand into his breeches and took his shaft in a tight grip. He stroked himself and groaned, and Nare stretched out beside him once more and pressed her groin against his leg through the bedroll.

“Come here, Nare,” he gasped. He fumbled with the bedding that covered his lower half. “Come closer…” 

She hastily peeled back the covers and slid into his bedroll. When she was lying halfway on top of him in the bedroll, he slid his fingers up along the nape of her neck into her hair. 

He curled his fingers in her hair and pulled, and she craned her head back. “Solas!” she whined.

He didn’t reply; he was too busy feasting on her exposed throat. His tongue was tracing the tendons in her neck, and his lips and teeth were drawing little tiny mewls of pleasure from her throat with every nip and kiss, and all the while he was stroking himself, sliding his eager fist along his pulsing length. With every pounding beat of his heart, his conviction in the dream grew greater: of course this was a dream, an aimless and wonderful wander through the Fade, because this was who he wanted to be. He wasn’t just the polite apostate who provided guidance to the Inquisitor when she asked, and he wasn’t the weary ancient rebel whose duty hung around his shoulders like a yoke; he was young and bold and lustful just like Nare, and in this moment, with her exquisite half-bare body stretched out beside him and rubbing against his hip, he felt every bit as hungry as the wolf that they accused him of being. 

She stroked his neck and chest. “Please,” she whined. “Please, I want to see…”

Bolstered by the impunity of the dream, he ducked his head and took her nipple in his mouth. When she was whimpering and thrusting against his hip, he pulled away. 

“What do you want to see, Nare?” he panted.

Her reply was immediate. “I want to see you touching yourself,” she said.

He ran his tongue over her nipple. “Why?” he asked.

She arched her spine and inhaled shakily. “B-because I… I want to see when you finish.”

His cock jerked at her words, and he ran his palm along his length as though to soothe it. “Why do you want to see that?” he asked.

“Because I want to lick you clean,” she blurted.

Her words sent another spike of excitement through his belly. He exhaled shakily and tightened his grip on his cock. “Tell me again,” he gritted. “Tell me what you wish to do.”

“I want to lick you clean after you come,” she panted. “I want to taste you.”

He gasped in a breath and stroked himself more quickly. His climax was so close, rising slowly but surely like the first hazy glow of sunrise at the edge of the horizon, and her words were bringing him ever closer to the glory of that rise… 

“Again, Nare,” he groaned. “Say it again.”

“I want to taste you!” she whined. She pulled his tunic up to expose his belly and ran her fingers below his navel. “I want to see you come right here so I can lick it off. I want that, Solas, I want it so much…”

His climax suddenly struck, surging through his abdomen and pulsing through his cock in hot spurts that painted his belly exactly as Nare had wanted. He gasped and jerked, his fist tightening convulsively around his shaft as he rode the dizzying wave of his peak, and as the pleasure ratcheted through his body, he realized with an odd rush of unreality that this was his first orgasm in thousands of years. 

Or it would be, if this were not a dream.

 _It is a dream,_ he told himself firmly. It had to be a dream; that was the only way he would do something this bold and impulsive and irresponsible. 

He squeezed his eyes more tightly shut until his pleasure ebbed from a blinding flash down to a pleasant glow. When he opened his eyes again, it was to find Nare bending over his body. 

She licked his belly, taking his seed on her tongue exactly as she’d said she would, and Solas watched blissfully as she lapped carefully at his skin. When every drop of his seed was gone, he reached down and lifted her chin. 

“Come here so I can kiss you,” he said. 

Her eyes widened. “But I just… I thought men didn’t like the, um, taste.”

He coaxed her closer with his fingers on her chin. “I want the taste of your tongue,” he said. “To taste your hunger, and the hunger you had when you tasted me.”

She smiled at him – that brilliant smile that haunted his dreams and his waking hours alike – then lowered her lips to his. Her kiss was gentle and soft, but Solas parted his lips to coax hers wider, then stroked her tongue with his own. 

Her breath caught in a tiny gasp, and he slid his fingers into her hair and pulled her closer to deepen the kiss. Her tongue was hot and smooth and flavoured with the faint bitterness of his seed, and he hungrily licked her tongue and nipped her lips until she was clenching her fingers on his chest and whimpering into his mouth. 

He gently pulled her hair, and she mewled before tilting her head back into his fist. He pulled a little harder still, forcing her to lie back in his bedroll so he was stretched over her instead.

She mewled again and gasped for breath, then gasped once more when he grazed her throat with his teeth. He lapped hungrily at the salt of her skin, then lifted himself on one elbow so he could study her. She was flat on her back and lifting her hips in desperation, and even in the darkness, – _the darkness of this dream,_ he reminded himself doggedly – he could see that some of her moisture had seeped through her smallclothes to darken her leggings.

“Solas,” she begged. She reached up and clasped his neck. “Solas, please…” 

He forced his eyes back to her face. She was staring at him, pinning him with those pleading eyes, and she was so beautiful and bright and lustful and… and she deserved so much more than he could give her. She was begging him with her words and her body and her heart in her big blue eyes, and he didn’t dare give her what she was asking for. It would be far too selfish.

But he also couldn’t back away now, _because_ he was far too selfish.

He kissed her again, coaxing her lips open to tangle his tongue with hers, then pried her fingers away from his neck and guided her hand down over her belly.

He broke their kiss and pressed his lips to her ear. “It is my turn to watch now,” he whispered. 

She nodded eagerly and shoved her leggings and smallclothes down to her knees, and Solas’s greedy gaze flicked to the apex of her thighs. Already her fingers were slipping into her cleft, dipping low to find her slickness and spread it over her fragrant flesh, and he watched with a feral sort of hunger as she swirled her fingers between her legs. 

He pushed her leggings down lower, then smoothed one palm along the inside of her thigh. She mewled again and spread her knees even wider, just as he’d hoped, and he stared shamelessly as she began to pet herself more eagerly still. Her fingers weren’t the only eager parts of her body, however; her whole body was shifting and moving, hips rising to rock against her left hand while her right hand clenched convulsively against her collarbone, her thighs sliding apart smoothly as he continued to stroke her tender inner thigh, and her breasts, rising and falling rapidly as she fought for breath…

Without tearing his eyes away from the juncture of her thighs, he lowered his mouth to her breast and suckled her nipple, and she jolted again and let out a pleasured little sob. He lapped at her nipple, then planted a line of kisses along the tense line of her throat until his lips were at her ear once more. 

“It is a pleasure to watch you, Nare,” he whispered. “And I suspect you will be reaching your pleasure soon.”

She gasped and jerked her hips. “Yes,” she breathed.

“There is something I want to do when you come. Shall I tell you what it is?”

“Please!” she begged. “I – tell me…”

He brushed her earlobe with his lips. “I want to lick your fingers clean.” 

She dragged in a tremulous breath, and Solas continued to murmur in her ear. “You have tasted me. I would have the privilege of tasting you in kind.”

She nodded hastily. “Yes!” she blurted. “Yes, of course, I…” She broke off with a moan. “Solas, I’m close…” 

He chuckled softly. “Take your time, Nare. There is no rush.”

She nodded and whimpered and rubbed her fingers between her legs. A few breathless heartbeats later, she gasped in a sharp breath, and Solas pulled her hair.

She cried out – or she would have, had he not muffled her by sealing his lips over hers. 

Her free hand rose to clasp his neck. She was moaning still, moaning with the pleasure that was causing her to thrust wantonly against her own hand, and when Solas dipped his tongue into her mouth to silence her, she clenched her nails against his neck and suckled his tongue. 

He grunted, surprised and pleased by her aggressive kiss. Her hips were rising still to meet her own hand, and his tongue was tied by her voracious kiss, and when she finally released his tongue, he wasn’t ready to pull away.

He kissed her again, tugging at her lips with his teeth and lips alike and lapping at her tongue, and she kissed him back just as hungrily. By the time she had settled from the ebbing of her orgasm, they were both panting against each other’s lips. 

Solas stroked her cheek and kissed her one more time: a soft and gentle press of the lips. Then he lifted her hand from between her legs and ran his tongue along the length of her slick index finger.

She gasped, but he barely heard it, distracted as he was by her flavour: she was musky and primal and fresher than the finest apples in Arlathan, and a rush of saliva flooded his mouth. He greedily took her shining fingers into his mouth and sucked them clean, then lifted his head to look at her.

 _Fenedhis_ , that look on her face: it was tempting and beautiful and real – so real and tangible and clear. And all at once, his cloud of lust-driven denial crumbled apart. This was not a dream; this was not a foray into the comfortable and malleable world of the Fade. This was tangible and solid, an event that he had allowed to happen and could not shape or bend or alter to his will, and now that it was done, he… he did not know what to do. 

He breathed hard as he stared at Nare. He stared into the deep and lucid pools of her eyes, these eyes that he was coming to adore more with every passing day, and with every beat of his heart, a cold sort of uncertainty tempered the roaring heat that had prompted him to fall into this tryst in the first place.

He shouldn’t have done this. He shouldn’t have encouraged her. What had he done? 

A slow and lovely smile curled the corners of her lips. “A man of many talents, hm?” she whispered. Then she broke into quiet giggles. 

He smiled at her, helpless at the sound of her laughter. “No talent was involved here, Nare. I did nothing. You pleasured yourself.”

She gave him a skeptical look. “With your help,” she said. “You did the, um…” She cleared her throat. “I really liked when you, um… pulled. My hair.” She dropped her gaze and nibbled her lower lip.

 _Ah, her shyness returns,_ he thought. But his fond amusement was diluted by the ache in his chest. This was the last moment when he could make the excuse that he had done nothing. Like their kiss in the Fade, Nare had initiated this tryst, and he could use this fact to back out of this liaison. To preserve them both from the pain that he knew was going to come.

 _No,_ he chastised himself. _Take responsibility for your actions._ Any pain that came from this tryst would be his fault alone. She was blameless in this. Once again, Solas was at fault.

Once again, Solas had made a mistake. 

“Solas?” Nare whispered.

He snapped out of his melancholy. She was gazing at him with a shy sort of hope.

“Yes, Nare?” he said.

She nervously licked her lips. “What does this mean?” she asked. “Are we… do you, um…” She broke off and swallowed hard. “What does it, um, mean?”

The pain in his chest swelled. What did this mean? It meant far too much to him – far more than it should. Nare was the first person who had caught his eye in thousands of years. She was the first person who had desired him in longer than he could recall. She was the first Dalish elf who had listened to him without dismissing him outright, and when he closed his eyes at night, her smile was the one that traced itself on the canvas of his closed eyelids. With every passing day in her company, every day he spent walking by her side and hearing her thoughtful voice and watching her make decisions for the good of her people, Nare meant more and more.

She couldn’t mean this much. He couldn’t allow her to mean this much. But he couldn’t say that to her, not with her lounging naked in his bedroll with her heart in her eyes looking like his every unattainable dream come true.

He skimmed his knuckles over her cheek. “This means that you will be very tired in the morning,” he said. “And I suspect the others will be too, unless you took the time to cast a spell of silence that I was unaware of.”

She burst out a laugh and covered her mouth, and Solas smiled as she laughed into her hand. He pulled the edge of the bedroll up to cover them both. “We should try and get some rest,” he said. 

She smiled. “You don’t mind if stay in your bedroll with you?”

She looked so hopeful and happy, and it broke his heart. He swallowed hard, then kissed her forehead. “I don’t mind,” he murmured. “Sleep well, Nare.”

She snuggled against his chest. “You too,” she whispered. “Sweet dreams. Enjoy the Fade.”

He smirked at her cheeky tone, then closed his eyes. _I always do,_ he thought. But for the first time, this staid and waking world held more appeal than the Fade, because _she_ was here. Nare belonged to this world, this tranquil world where magic required so much effort and spirits were reviled. 

For the first time, Solas would rather be here than in the Fade. And that thought scared him more than he could say.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ‘ _elgar’venathe_ ’ means a spirit who adopted a corporeal form, like Cole. Literally ‘walking spirit’. I invented this word for the purpose of this fic using [FenxShiral’s excellent resources on AO3.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3719848?view_full_work=true)
> 
> I am [Pikapeppa on Tumblr,](https://pikapeppa.tumblr.com/) and Nare Lavellan belongs to the extremely talented artist [@elbenherzart. ](https://elbenherzart.tumblr.com/) xoxo


	2. Hah'ren

###  NARE 

Nare had made a mistake.

She didn’t know what the mistake was; she genuinely had no idea what she’d done wrong. But she must have made a mistake. She couldn’t think of any other reason why Solas was pulling away from her. 

This wasn’t to say he was being unkind. He was just as polite as usual, and he was answering her questions as readily as always. But he wasn’t giving her those lingering looks anymore: those heated little moments of eye contact that lasted just a hint too long to be innocent. He wasn’t making those subtly playful little comments that made her heart race.

Ever since the night they’d spent together in the tent on the Storm Coast, Solas had gone back to being the polite, mild-mannered, and totally platonic man she’d first met a few months ago. One bone-meltingly torrid night pressed together in his bedroll with his shiver-inducing voice breathing in her ear, and Solas had gone back to treating her like nothing more than a friendly acquaintance. 

When she’d woken up the morning after their tryst in the tent, Solas had already risen. Nare found him sitting by the fire, and the smile he’d given her was polite and friendly and… cool. Not _cold_ , not by any means, but cool. Composed and calm. A terrible contrast with night before, when his whole face was twisted with pleasure while he ran his fist along the length of his own cock. 

From that moment on, as they set out to return to Skyhold from the Storm Coast, Solas was perfectly friendly with her, perfectly polite and helpful, and so perfectly, horribly _cool_. 

Nare spent the first few days of travel trying to recapture the budding heat of their relationship from before the night in the tent. She walked beside him and asked him questions about the Fade, and she even tried to flirt a little when she was feeling brave, to no avail. Solas walked with her and answered her questions as kindly as always, but he responded to her coy and flirty comments as though they weren’t coy at all. After the first day of his polite neutrality, she was so discouraged that she didn’t have the guts to invite him into her tent.

And when he didn’t offer to join her, she was crushed.

She didn’t say anything, though. She didn’t ask him why he was being cold, because he _wasn’t_ being cold, not really. She didn’t ask why he didn’t want to share a tent with her anymore, because he was under no obligation to share a tent with her. And so they continued on their trip back back to Skyhold, and Nare spent the rest of the journey trying to figure out where she’d gone wrong. 

Maybe she was trying too hard. She’d never pursued any man this doggedly before, so maybe she was coming on too strong. But she could have sworn that Solas enjoyed her boldness on those rare moments when she’d mustered the balls to make a real move. 

She could be wrong, though. The first time she’d really made a move was in the Fade, and he’d been half-asleep in the tent when she’d kissed him, so… so maybe he was only kissing her back because he was half-asleep and shocked. That was a depressing thought.

Even more depressing was the possibility that she’d been imagining the heated looks and the flirty comments. Maybe Solas _hadn’t_ actually been giving her lingering looks. Maybe his subtly flirtatious comments hadn’t been flirtatious at all. Maybe she was just imagining him to be flirty and lustful beneath that calm and academic exterior because that’s how _she_ felt when she was around him. Was it possible that she was imagining his interest in her because she wanted _him_ so badly? Creators, was her entire perception of their so-called ‘relationship’ just a figment of her own desperation?

 _No,_ she thought. No, it couldn’t be entirely imagined. There was no imagining the way they’d moved together in the tent. Nare had an active imagination – Mythal save her, was her imagination ever active. But it wasn’t _that_ good. Nothing she’d ever imagined was as good as the feeling of lying naked beside Solas while he whispered in her ear with that silk-smooth voice of his. Nothing her besotted mind could conjure had ever felt as good as Solas’s voice murmuring in her ear while he caressed her inner thigh with those elegant artist’s fingers. 

She hadn’t imagined the night they’d spent in the tent. That night had been the best thing to happen to her since the minute she’d left her clan. If that tryst wasn’t imagined, then… then maybe Nare’s real mistake was assuming that their night together was anything more than just that: one torrid night of shared pleasure that Solas had no interest in repeating. 

“Are you well, Inquisitor?” 

She jolted and looked at Cassandra, who was sitting beside her by the campfire. Cassandra’s voice was brisk as usual, but her eyebrows were slightly lifted. 

“Yes,” Nare said. “I’m fine, Cassandra. Why do you ask?”

Cassandra studied her for a moment longer, then went back to oiling her armour. When she spoke, it was in a very quiet voice. 

“You were staring,” she said. 

“Staring?” Nare said blankly.

“Yes,” Cassandra said, even more quietly still. “Staring at… someone.”

Her tone was pointed, and Nare’s ears went hot. Ashamed, she glanced across the fire. Solas was sitting across from them with his back resting against a boulder and a book in his hand. His unoccupied arm was folded tidily across his chest, but his legs were splayed in a loose and confident way that made her think longingly about the rise and the subtle curve of his cock, and… _Fenedhis_ , fuck, had she been staring at him that obviously? 

He hadn’t seemed to notice her lewd attention, however; he was frowning as he studied his book, and his lips were slightly pouted with concentration, but his pout only made it harder for her to think about anything except what it would feel like if he ever lowered those plush and pouty lips between her legs. 

She ducked her head in embarrassment and ran a hand over her braid. Her cheeks felt like they were on fire. “I… I think I’ll turn in for the night,” she stammered, and she rose to her feet.

“Good night,” Cassandra said. She sounded casual, but Nare was further ashamed to note a hint of worry in Cassandra’s stern face.

Nare gathered her sewing kit and the tunic she’d been trying to mend. As she turned away from the fire, Solas finally spoke.

“Sleep well,” he said. 

She looked at him. His expression was friendly but cool, and his voice was calm. He was so neutral, with his polite smile and polite tone of voice, and Nare couldn’t stand it. 

She managed a feeble smile, then turned away from the fire and went to her tent. A few minutes later, she was tucked into her bedroll and staring up at the inside of her tent – her lonely tent that she was sleeping in all alone. 

She sighed and stared miserably at the support poles. She just wished she knew what she’d done to drive Solas away. Had she offended him somehow? Was she _too_ eager? Had it been _too_ bold when she’d told him she wanted to lick his come off of his skin? But even as the thought occurred to her, she discarded it. Solas just didn’t strike her as the sort of feeble man to be put off by an overtly sexual woman.

Not that Nare would consider herself an overtly sexual woman – not before Solas, at least. Before she met Solas, Nare had sometimes wondered if maybe she wasn’t a sexual person at all. None of the four men she’d been with in the past had ever succeeded in rousing more feeling in her than a lukewarm hint of lust. None of her lovers in the past had really _tried_ to rouse more than a lukewarm hint of lust before they were pulling out their cocks and trying to push themselves inside of her, whether she was really ready or not.

None of them had ever noticed her discomfort. And with each subsequent man she lay with, she’d fallen deeper into the belief that sex wasn’t meant for her. How could it be meant for her if the act was more pain than pleasure? Why bother hoping that sex could be better if each man she slept with only reinforced the pain?

Then Nare had left her clan. She’d travelled across Ferelden to the Frostback Mountains and fallen headfirst into the Inquisition, and with the Inquisition, she’d met Solas. 

Within the space of a single conversation, Nare had found herself more intrigued and more hopelessly attracted to Solas than she’d ever been to any other man. And in the space of a single night pressed against him in his bedroll, she’d had the most toe-curlingly pleasurable experience of her entire life.

And Solas hadn’t even tried to have sex with her. This was the part that really stunned her. He had followed her lead, bringing himself to completion and then coaxing her to do the same with his silken voice and his fingers on her thigh and his lips on her breast, and he hadn’t even attempted to bed her. Ironically, his restraint made her feel more comfortable and relaxed than she’d ever been around any other man, while also making her want him all the more desperately. 

_Damn it,_ she thought sadly. Now that she was thinking about Solas fucking her, she couldn’t think about anything else. With nothing else to distract her in the lonely gloom of her tent, all Nare could think about was how it might feel to have Solas placing his elegant hands on her thighs and pushing them apart so he could press his perfect cock inside of her… 

A bloom of heat pulsed to life between her legs. And just like she’d done for the past few nights, she tried to ignore it. For a few minutes, Nare simply breathed and prayed for sleep to save her from her thoughts. But when the persistent fantasies continued to torture her, she gave in and slid her hand down over her belly. 

She slipped her fingers into her leggings and found herself slick with want. And just like she’d done for the past few nights, she petted her swollen clit and thought of _him_. 

She thought of his hand wrapped around his cock while his handsome face twisted with pleasure. She thought of his fingers twining in her hair and pulling gently while she tried to keep her cool. She thought of his mouth: his lips parting as he panted for breath, his teeth teasing the sensitive skin of her neck, his mouth sealing over hers to muffle her moaning as his tongue tangled with hers in the most scorching open-mouthed kisses she’d ever had…

In the space of a minute, she came. She clenched her free hand in her bedding and flexed her hips toward her own fingers, and a minute later when the ripples of pleasure waned, she started touching herself again. 

She thought about Solas. She thought about his soft and sultry voice as he murmured in her ear, and she thought about the more animated cadence of his voice when he was teaching her about spirits and the Fade. She thought about the creamy spurts of his seed as it painted the smoothness of his belly, and she thought about the careful brushstrokes that he painted on the walls of the rotunda. She thought about Solas, about his fingers on her body and his adorable snort of a laugh and the way he stroked his chin when he was thinking. She stroked her clit feverishly and she thought of him, and the sheer weight of her lust brought her to climax two more times. 

But every orgasm she gave herself was less satisfying than the last. Each peak she reached only served to make her more desperate for him to fill her up. Sated and frustrated all at once, Nare finally gave up pleasuring herself. And just like she’d done for the past few nights, she lay in her bedroll wishing fervently that Solas would crawl into her tent and fuck her until she didn’t feel empty anymore. 

That was how she had felt for the past few nights after touching herself all alone in her tent: empty. She felt empty in the deepest muscles of her core that were throbbing and bearing down on absolutely nothing at all, and she felt empty in her aching heart. She had never wanted anything more badly than she wanted Solas to fill her up… No. No, that wasn’t all she wanted. She didn’t just want him to fuck her. She wanted _him_ : his voice and his fingers and his gorgeous cock, his dry humour and his snappish moments of temper and his academic mind. She… gods, it was more than just want. It was more than desire or lust or any of those juvenile words that felt shallow and fleeting. She longed for Solas, for the completion she _knew_ he could give her and the passion that lurked just beneath his mild-mannered façade. She longed for him so badly that it hurt – literally hurt, with an undeniable physical ache of desire that she could feel in her throat and her hands and feet, and the only person that could fill this need and soothe the ache away was him. 

She longed for him so badly that it hurt. And he was sitting out there by the campfire with his book and his polite smile and his polite tone of voice, and Nare couldn’t fucking stand it. 

***************************

Three days later, Nare was sitting on a cushion in Dorian’s reading nook and poring over a book when Dorian wandered up the stairs to join her. Instead of sitting in his armchair as he usually did, however, he stood over her and folded his arms. 

Nare looked up at him and raised her eyebrows. His face was a picture of reproof. 

“What’s wrong?” she said. “What did I do?”

He stared at her for a moment longer, then sat in his chair and crossed his ankle elegantly over his knee. “You need to tell me what is happening with you and our resident shabby apostate,” he said. “Or what _isn’t_ happening, as it were.”

Her heart jolted, but she tried to keep her expression calm. “What do you mean?” she asked.

He raised one eyebrow. “Don’t play the fool with me. I’ve been watching the two of you since you got back from the Storm Coast. Thank you for not inviting me on that little trip, by the way.”

She smiled at him. “Oh, you’re welcome. I didn’t want to ruin your fine snoufleur skin boots.”

He smirked. “I appreciate that, really I do. What I don’t appreciate is the cloud of horrendous hormones that are wafting up from the rotunda on a daily basis.”

She gaped at him. “I-I’m sorry?”

“You and Solas,” Dorian said firmly but quietly. “Tell me what happened on the Storm Coast.”

Nare stared at him for a second longer, then dropped her gaze back to her book. “I – what do you mean? Nothing happened. It’s nothing.”

“Nothing happened, or it’s nothing?” Dorian said.

Nare licked her dry lips. “Nothing… It’s nothing. He’s not interested, so nothing is happening.” Since their return to Skyhold, she’d spent the last couple of days trying to spend as much time with Solas as possible on the off chance that he was simply tired or distracted during the journey home. She’d even spent all of last night awake in the rotunda with him while he painted one of his murals. They’d had a very nice conversation about his fresco technique and some of the more obscure works of art that Solas had seen during his journeys in the Fade, but not once had he tried to flirt with her or touch her, and all of his eye contact had been perfunctory and brief. When she’d woken up late this morning after a snatching a few hours of sleep, she’d felt so discouraged that she hadn’t even bothered to say good morning to him before coming straight up to Dorian’s nook to bury her misery in a book. 

Dorian laughed.

Hurt, she looked up at him. “You’re laughing at me?” she said plaintively. “Why would you laugh?”

His smile slid into a look of surprise. “Oh. I thought you were joking.”

“Joking about what?” she retorted. She dropped her gaze back to her book and idly turned the page. “It’s not… it’s not funny.”

He was silent for a moment. Then he uncrossed his legs and leaned toward her. “What in the name of Andraste’s pressed silk knickers makes you think that Solas is not interested in you?”

She shrugged listlessly. A moment later, Dorian spoke again. “I like to think of myself as a rather observant person,” he said. “In addition to being stunningly beautiful and uncommonly intelligent.”

Nare smiled faintly, but Dorian wasn’t finished. “I can hear everything that happens in the rotunda, you know,” he said. “I even watch sometimes when I’m bored, especially if he’s painting.”

She smiled a bit more genuinely. “It’s fascinating to watch him paint, isn’t it?”

“It is, but that’s not my point,” Dorian said. “It’s… we have been at Skyhold for over a month now. I’ve been watching you and Solas tiptoeing around each other for over a month. You are obviously interested in each other. I can’t fathom why neither of you has done anything about it.”

Nare stared at him. “Why do you… what makes you think he’s interested?”

He gave her an exasperated look. “Nare, don’t be dense. He watches you constantly. His eyes follow you constantly. ” He raised an eyebrow. “And you are aware that he doesn’t speak with anyone else the way he speaks with you, yes?” 

She gazed speechlessly at him for a moment before finding her tongue. “He doesn’t… he doesn’t watch me.”

Dorian chuckled and crossed his ankle over his knee once more. “My dear deluded Inquisitor, he does. He watches you like a wolf watches halla. It’s rather sickening, actually.”

A trickle of excitement ran down her spine at this description, but Dorian was still speaking. “He’s been trying to hide it more since you came back from the Storm Coast, though. That’s why I’m being so dreadfully intrusive right now and poking my nose into your personal business.”

Nare laughed lightly. “Don’t act as though you don’t love gossip.”

He casually brushed some dust from his sleeve. “I’m not denying that I have a taste for drama. But not if it means you’re moping around in my lovely little nook. And certainly not if your whole… unresolved situation here is sending clouds of hormones into my space.” He wrinkled his nose. “It’s extremely distracting when I’m trying to study.”

Nare scoffed. She knew for a fact that Dorian had spent half the day yesterday with Sera trying to devise a way to win at wicked grace against Varric instead of studying. But before she could teasingly point this out, Dorian spoke again, and his tone was more serious than before.

“Solas cares for you, Nare. It’s very obvious. To me, at least,” he added. “If that’s the reason you’ve been stalling, then allow my shining testimony to put your mind at ease.”

She nibbled the inside of her cheek for a moment. She didn’t want to raise her hopes too much, not after the disappointment of the past two weeks. 

She took a deep breath and smiled cheekily at Dorian. “Clouds of hormones, hm?”

“A veritable fog, really,” he said disdainfully. “It’s disgusting.”

She laughed and rose from her cushion, then handed him the book she’d been pretending to read. “Thank you,” she said sincerely. “I’ll… I’ll think about it.”

He sighed. “Progress, I suppose. Off to make some plans to save the world, are you?”

“Yes,” she said. “I’m meeting Josephine in ten minutes.”

“Have fun,” he said, and he flipped open the book. “Don’t kill anyone without me.”

She smirked, then made her way down the stairs. At the bottom of the stairs, however, she paused and peered into the rotunda. 

Solas was examining his new mural. His sleeves were pushed up to his elbows and he was rubbing his chin in that thoughtful way that Nare loved so much, and he was so handsome that it hurt. 

He turned, and his eyebrows rose as he noticed her. “Inquisitor,” he said. “How can I help?”

 _Kiss me,_ she thought. _Fuck me. By the Dread Wolf, just be with me._

She shook her head. “Nothing right now. I’m just on my way to a meeting.”

He nodded politely. “I see. Another time, then.” 

She smiled, then turned away and headed for the door to the great hall. But just before she pushed open the door, she glanced over her shoulder at Solas.

He was watching her. 

The moment they made eye contact, he turned away to look at his mural once more. But the fleeting flash of his attention was enough to lodge her heart in her throat. For that split second of attention, the split second when their eyes had met, she could have sworn she saw what Dorian was talking about. 

She could have sworn she saw a hint of hunger in his eyes. 

She took a deep breath to calm herself and stepped into the great hall. Maybe Dorian was right. Maybe Solas was interested after all, and was just trying to hide it for some reason. To keep things professional, maybe? He had said something about needing time to think after their first kiss in the Fade. 

If that was the case, then maybe… maybe Nare just needed to give him something to think about. 

And as it turned out, Dorian ended up giving her just the means to make Solas really _think._

******************

The next morning when she drifted into the rotunda, Solas wasn’t there. Instead, Dorian was lounging on the couch with a large tome on his lap. 

Nare raised her eyebrows. “What are _you_ doing here?”

“Waiting for our shiny-headed friend,” he said. “He’s searching for a rare tome for me in the basement library.” He inspected his nails casually. “I told him at length about how much I needed the tome and how I’d been searching far and wide in the library upstairs for it, and he finally gave in and went to look for me.”

Nare chuckled. “You annoyed Solas into leaving the rotunda?”

Dorian tutted. “Inquisitor, you malign me. Solas is generously doing me a favour. I would have gone to look for myself, you understand, but I have terrible allergies to vellum.”

“You do not,” she said flatly.

“I do so,” he retorted. He turned the vellum page of the book on his lap. “Maybe you should go and help him. He’s been gone for at least fifteen minutes, and I’m starting to get bored.”

Nare studied him carefully. He was clearly trying to lure her into joining Solas in the library, and the lure was embarrassingly effective. The mere thought of being alone in the cozy little basement library with Solas was a temptation she couldn’t resist. 

“All right,” she said. “I’ll go give him a hand, then.”

“Excellent idea,” Dorian said. “I knew you’d been made the Inquisitor for a reason.”

She gave him a chiding smile and left the rotunda, then made an eager beeline for the basement library. Just as she reached the bottom of the stairs, she thought she saw something at the corner of her eye.

She paused and glanced toward the kitchen. She could hear the kitchen staff moving around, but there was no one coming out. But she could have sworn…

 _Oh well,_ she thought dismissively. She hurried toward the library and paused at the threshold of the small and cozy room.

Her heart swelled fondly. Solas was sitting in one of the two padded chairs at the large polished desk, and the bookshelves that lined the room were lit by the warm and flickering glow of an alchemical lamp. She ran a nervous hand over her hair, then knocked on the open door. 

Solas turned at the sound. His face was creased into a frown, but the irritation fled his face when he recognized her. “Inquisitor,” he said, and he rose from his chair. “I did not expect to see you here.”

She smiled and leaned against the door jamb. “I didn’t expect to see you here, either. Dorian mentioned you were helping him to find something?”

His expression grew annoyed again. “Ah. Dorian. As it turns out, I know for certain that the tome he seeks is on the third shelf to the right of the stairs in the tower library.”

Nare smiled. “You knew it wasn’t down here, but you came anyway?”

Solas folded his hands behind his back. “For a large castle, Skyhold has surprisingly few places to take refuge from the bustle of daily life. I admit that I am still overwhelmed at times by the degree of activity.”

His gaze was on the bookshelves now, and Nare studied him sympathetically. She could imagine it must be hard for him to be constantly surrounded by other people if he was used to travelling on his own.

She stepped into the room and padded toward him. “I know what you mean, actually,” she said. “I get tired too when I have to be around other people for long.”

He looked at her. “Do you?” he said. “You hide it remarkably well. You are very apt at managing the social facets of your position.”

She leaned back against the desk. “Don’t get me wrong, I enjoy the social parts. It’s been nice meeting so many different people through the Inquisition. I would never have met any of our friends otherwise.” She nibbled her lip for a moment, then boldly added, “I wouldn’t have met you.”

He looked at her, and her belly did a little jolt. There was a softness in his expression that had been lacking for some time, but also an unexpected sort of sadness.

“I admire your optimism in the face of all this, Nare,” he said softly.

Her heart flipped. This was the first time since _that night_ that he’d called her ‘Nare’ instead of ‘Inquisitor’. 

She smiled at him, tongue-tied with hope, and his own smile widened. Then he sat in his chair again. “In any case, I was looking for a place to read in peace, since Dorian appears to have made himself comfortable in my office.”

Her hopeful feeling faded. “Oh,” she said. “I can, um, leave you alone then.”

“That is not necessary,” Solas said. “ _Your_ company is always welcome.”

Surprised and delighted, she looked at him, and the hopeful warmth in her chest bloomed even further at the soft look in his eyes. Before she could find a response, however, Solas sighed. “Regrettably, I left my book about runes on my desk upstairs, and I had meant to cross-reference it with this volume here.” He tapped the open book on the desk.

“I’ll fetch it for you,” Nare said immediately.

His eyes widened. “Ah. That’s not what I – there is no need, I should–” He started to rise from his chair, but Nare waved him back down.

“Sit, sit!” she said. “It’s fine, I’ll get it for you. You can stay safe from Dorian down here.” 

He eyed her uncertainly for a moment, then settled back in his chair. “If you insist. That’s very kind of you.”

 _Hardly,_ she thought with no small amount of excitement; her motives were entirely selfish. If Solas stayed here, then they really could spend some time alone in this library, and the coziness of this room – combined with the soft warmth in Solas’s expression – was making her feel quite hopeful indeed.

She beamed at him, then hurried toward the library door. Strangely enough, the door was closed. 

Even more strangely, it was locked. From the outside.

Nare raised her eyebrows. She was able to turn the knob, but she couldn’t open the door. A moment later, Solas spoke. “Is something wrong?”

“The door,” she said. “It’s, er, locked.”

“Locked?” Solas said.

“Yes,” Nare replied. “Does this door normally lock from the outside?”

“No, but I have a key,” Solas said. “Let me make an attempt.” He joined her and slotted a brass key into the keyhole, then turned the knob, to no avail. 

He frowned and pushed his shoulder against the door once, then slammed his shoulder against the door more forcefully, and Nare giggled.

Solas raised his eyebrows at her. “Is something funny?”

“Yes, actually,” she said. “You smashing your shoulder against a door. Blackwall would be proud.”

Solas blinked at her, then smirked. “Impertinent _da’len_.” 

She laughed. Solas grinned at her, and she was struck by a sudden dizzying wish to kiss his grinning mouth.

He chuckled and stepped away from the door. “It appears that we’ve been locked in by magic. A spell of some sort.”

 _A spell?_ she thought. That was odd. Not unfortunate, though, if it meant she was trapped in here with him. “Can you undo it?” she asked.

“In all likelihood, yes,” he replied. “Let me see if a simple counterspell will work.” He muttered to himself softly in Elvhen, and Nare waited with bated breath for the result. 

A moment later, Solas frowned and rubbed his chin. “It is more complex than it appears. I may have to work out something more complex to match it.” He glanced at her. “Would you care to assist me?”

“I’d love to,” she said. If it meant getting him away from the door and back into the cozy and romantic glow of the library proper, she would happily agree. 

He gestured politely for her to sit in one of the padded chairs, then seated himself in the other. “From what I gather, the locking spell appears not to be an inherent aspect of the door itself, but rather to originate from an external locus of power. Nare, if you can–”

“Now it’s Nare, then?” she interrupted.

He broke off and blinked. “I beg your pardon?”

She bit the inside of her cheek. She hadn’t meant to be that blunt, but now that she’d said it… “You’re, um. Are you back to calling me ‘Nare’ again?” she said. “You’ve been calling me ‘Inquisitor’ since we, er… for the past couple of weeks.” 

He studied her carefully, and Nare’s pulse began to pick up – with anxiety and excitement both. His expression was still mild, but the longer they gazed at each other, the more intense his attention seemed to become. 

He rose from his chair and wandered slowly toward one of the bookshelves. “I meant only to call you by a title of respect. And I do respect you deeply.”

“I… I appreciate that,” she said. And she did appreciate his respect. But the slow way he was circling around the library now was making her want far more than his respect.

He shot her a faint smile, then continued to pace slowly around the small room, and Nare shifted restlessly in her chair. Over the past few months, Nare had noticed that Solas paced around like this in moments when he was feeling particularly pensive. And in these moments when he was slowly pacing, she couldn’t keep her eyes away from him.

It was the fluidity of his gait. The casual confidence with which he walked, like a saunter without any of the smugness. His steps were silent and slow, measured and focused, and when he walked like this, he almost reminded her of a predator prowling carefully around its domain. 

He reminded her of a wolf, just as Dorian had said.

A rush of heat pooled between her legs. Compelled by the sudden pulse of desire, she opened her mouth. “Should I call _you_ by a title of respect as well, then?” she said cheekily. “Maybe I should start calling you _hah’ren_?”

He gave her a sharp look, and Nare stopped breathing for a moment. His eyes, his face – gods save her, the look he was giving her… It was almost as though he was seeing her for the first time, while also seeing far more than she’d intended to show him. His eyes were locked on hers, those beautiful clear pale blue-grey eyes that Nare spent so much time dreaming about, and the look he was giving her was enough to make her feel like he was stripping her bare.

Not just bare down to the skin she wanted so badly for him to touch, though. The way Solas was looking at her right now felt like he was seeing her – really _seeing_ her, beyond her cheeky words and her foolish blushing cheeks and her inept attempts to draw out his affection. In this moment, frozen in this chair and ensnared by Solas’s penetrating gaze, Nare felt like he was seeing exactly who she was.

She swallowed hard, struck dumb by vulnerability and longing and the depth of her own thwarted desire. Then Solas smiled, and her heart pulsed even harder at the rare beauty of his smile. 

“ _Hah’ren_?” he said. “You are calling me old?”

She forced herself to breathe. “You called me _da’len._ Are you calling me a child?”

“No,” he said immediately. “Not at all. You are mischievous and energetic, but by no means childlike.” 

He was pacing again – no, not pacing, but prowling. Nare pressed her thighs together to try and quell the thrumming between her legs. “Exactly,” she said. “And _you’re_ experienced and wise. Not by any means old.”

His eyebrows tilted slightly. Then he huffed and continued to pace around the room. “I would hardly consider myself wise. Quite the opposite, in fact.”

She cocked her head curiously. Was that really what he thought? “You’re one of the most learned people I know,” she said. “You know so much, and you’re always trying to learn more by researching in the Fade. You have so many interesting things to teach.”

“Do I?” he said.

She frowned. Surely he was joking. “You’ve already taught me quite a bit of old Elvhen magic that my clan had lost,” she pointed out. “And there are a lot of other things you could teach me. You could teach me to Fadewalk, or how to read Elvhen.” She perked up. “You could teach me how to paint and draw! I love your frescoes. I’d love to be able to do something like that.”

He turned around halfway and glanced at her. “That is what you want me to teach you? Truly?”

Her breath stalled once more. His expression was calm, but his eyes… there was something almost magnetic about them, some force in his gaze that seemed to pull at an impulse that was buried deep inside of her belly. Before she could question herself or question where the impulse was coming from, her wayward mouth was opening.

“I want you to teach me whatever you want,” she said. “I’d be happy to learn anything from you.”

He raised his eyebrows. “Anything?” he said.

“Yes,” she said. “Anything, _hah’ren._ ”

He took a deep breath, and a pulse of heat rippled through her limbs. That deep and rasping breath he took: it sounded like the way he’d breathed in her tent on the Storm Coast. It sounded like how _she_ felt right now, sitting in this chair and gazing at him.

It sounded like lust.

He turned back to face the bookshelf, and Nare watched him with rising desperation. His hands were still folded behind his back, but his left thumb was rubbing at his right wrist in what looked like a nervous tic, and Nare tried to draw comfort from the edginess of the gesture. At least she didn’t seem to be suffering alone. 

Solas stared at the shelf, and Nare stared at him. Just as she was on the verge of begging him to turn around and face her, he did just that. 

“What do you really want me to teach you, _da’len?_ ” he said.

 _Da’len_. This was the second time now that he’d called her that, and for some reason, the word in his calm and controlled voice was sent a punch of lust straight to her gut. It didn’t help that his posture was steady and still and confident, like a predator about to pounce.

And in this moment, Nare wanted nothing more than to be his willing prey. 

She took a deep breath of her own, then said the boldest thing that she’d said since _that_ night. “I want you to teach me how to kiss,” she said. 

His expression grew tender. “That is not something you need teaching in, Nare. You already have exemplary skill.”

A silly grin stretched across her face at the compliment, even though she didn’t believe it. _She_ wasn’t the one who was good at kissing; Solas was. All Nare ever did was helplessly follow the lead of his gorgeous lips pulling at hers. 

She ducked her head bashfully and tucked a loose strand of hair over her ear. “I need practice, though. Practice makes perfect, doesn’t it?”

“One could argue that, yes,” Solas said. 

She met his gaze once more. “Help me practice, then.”

“Help you practice?” he said. “Is that an order or a request?”

“A request,” she said quickly.

Solas raised an eyebrow. “Perhaps you should phrase it as such, if you believe me to be so experienced and wise.”

Nare grinned at his playful tone, and when the corners of his lips quirked in a hint of a smile, she nearly laughed out loud. Instead, she wrestled her face back into a sober expression. “Please, _hah’ren_ , will you help me practice kissing?” she said politely.

He gazed at her for a moment longer. Then, slowly and carefully, he stepped toward her. 

Nare held her breath as Solas drew near. Then he reached out and lifted her chin. 

A trickle of heat poured through her body. This was the first time Solas was touching her in two weeks. It was a soft and gentle touch, just a subtle lifting of her chin with his fingers, but it triggered an avalanche of memories: memories of his fingers tightening in her hair and his mouth on her breast and his hand stroking the inside of her thigh… 

“Please,” she blurted. “Please kiss me–”

He dipped his head low and kissed her, and a dizzying rush of lust stopped her breath. His mouth was sealed over hers, and his tongue was caressing hers in a slow smooth stroke, and when he tried to take his tongue back, she whimpered and thrust her tongue into his mouth instead.

He grunted – Creators, she’d missed that satisfied sound – then cradled her jaw in one hand and slanted his lips firmly over hers once more, and… gods, the word _kissing_ was insufficient for this. It wasn’t enough to capture the feeling of his lips and tongue devouring her and making her so desperately wet that she could feel her smallclothes getting soaked. 

This wasn’t kissing. This wasn’t Solas kissing her. This was Solas taking control. He was taking control of her body with every pull of his lips and every gentle nip of his teeth, and with a burst of lust-fuelled clarity, she realized that Solas in control was exactly what she wanted. 

He suckled her tongue gently, then lapped lightly at her lower lip. She panted fitfully as he traced her lower lip with his tongue, and when he slanted his lips over hers again, his hand slid from the side of her jaw to cradle the front of her throat.

She gasped and jolted, and Solas broke from her lips and loosened his grip on her throat. “Is this all right?” he murmured.

“Yes!” she gasped. She grabbed his hand and pressed it against her neck. “Yes, yes, it’s – please, don’t stop, please…”

He stroked her neck gently, brushing his knuckles along the edge of her throat, and she let out a little sob of frustration. She needed _more_ : more of his lips devouring hers and more of his hand wrapped around her throat... 

“Please,” she whined. “Solas, please…” 

His torturous thumb traced along her jaw. “What do you wish, Nare?” he said. “Do you wish for me to teach you something?”

“Yes!” she cried. 

“Yes, what?” he said softly. 

Her eyes darted up to his, and her heart hammered excitedly in her ears. His expression was serious, but his eyes were absolutely blazing with heat. And the way he was staring at her, like he knew exactly what words were sitting at the tip of her tongue…

Without any hesitation or qualms, she said the words he was waiting for. “Yes, _hah’ren_.” 

He inhaled slowly, and Nare gazed pleadingly at him. Then he was kissing her again more firmly than before, his tongue in her mouth and his lips firm and eager, and – fuck, fuck, _yes_ , his hand was curling around her throat in a gentle grip… 

She sobbed helplessly into his mouth and arched her spine, then reached shamelessly for his belt. She grabbed the buckle and tried to unfasten it, but Solas broke the kiss and grabbed her hands to stop her. 

“Such impatience, _da’len,_ ” he murmured. “I thought you asked me to teach you something.”

“I did,” she whimpered. “I want that. I want _you._ ” She took one of her hands back from him and reached for his cock, but he grabbed her hand again.

“Nare, look at me,” he said.

Mythal save her, his voice… it was strong and commanding, and it sent a shiver of delight straight down to the apex of her thighs. Incapable of defying his demand, she looked up to meet his gaze. 

He gently squeezed her hand. “Will you let me teach you?” 

His tone was a firm demand despite the question of his words, and Nare nodded eagerly. “Yes, _hah’ren_.”

He stared at her for a moment, then released her hand and took a step back. “Good,” he said. “Remove your clothes for me.”

 _Yes,_ she thought feverishly. Without wasting her breath to reply, she stood from her chair and began stripping off her clothes. When she pushed her smallclothes down, they left a shining trail of moisture trickling along the inner margins of her thighs.

 _Fuck,_ she thought desperately. Fuck, _fuck,_ she’d never been this hopelessly wet before, not even while touching herself to her fondest fantasies of Solas. She stared at her ruined smallclothes, and a prickle of heat began to creep across her cheeks. 

She swallowed hard and looked up at him, and a fresh wave of heat rolled through her entire body. His eyes were scanning slowly over her naked skin, and his chest was rising and falling slowly with the depth of his breathing. 

He rubbed his mouth. “ _Ina’lan’ehn,_ ” he said.

 _Beautiful._ Nare’s cheeks flamed even further at the compliment. Then a thread of lust dripped from her pussy down toward the floor. 

Embarrassed, she pressed her legs together, but Solas took a step toward her. “Don’t,” he said. “Don’t hide this, Nare. I want to look at you.” 

She looked at him uncertainly, and he tilted his head at the desk. “Sit,” he said gently. “Let me admire you.”

She nervously licked her lips, then turned to the desk and pushed aside the books he’d been poring over. She sat gingerly on the polished wooden surface and looked up to meet his eyes again. “What now?” she said breathlessly. 

He took another small step closer. His eyes were still roving over her body. When he met her gaze, her breath stalled in her chest: he looked so intense and so _hungry_ , and she couldn’t stop herself from begging.

“Please, Solas,” she whimpered. “Touch me.” 

“I will,” he promised. “Open your legs for me first.”

She swallowed hard, then slowly parted her knees. His eyes fell between her legs, and he licked his lips – those plush lips that kissed her so fucking well, and… Creators, was he going to put that talented mouth between her legs?

Her pussy pulsed at the thought. Then Solas spoke again. “Wider, _da’len._ Let me look at you.”

She braced her palms behind her on the desk and opened her legs even wider. For a moment Solas simply stared at her, his eyes moving in a slow and luxurious path from her collarbones down to her bare feet, and Nare waited with a nervous sort of tension for him to speak. 

But Solas didn’t speak. Instead, he stepped between her parted legs and brushed his thumb over her lips.

On instinct, she parted her lips to taste his thumb, but his hand was already moving on; it was curving slowly around her neck to cradle her nape, and his fingers were tracing up along her scalp… 

She gasped. Oh gods, oh gods, his fingers were curling around her braided hair–

He pulled gently on her hair, and Nare mewled and craned her head back toward his hand. Then Solas’s lips were brushing over her ear. 

“I know you like this, Nare,” he murmured, and he pulled her hair again.

She gasped blissfully and nodded. Then Solas continued speaking to her in a low and intimate voice. “It was a happy accident when I discovered this. But if I do anything you don’t like, you will tell me.”

She shot him a sideways look. He _wanted_ her to tell him if she didn’t like something? 

His expression was heated but earnest, and an odd sort of ache started swelled in her chest. No other man had ever told her before that she could… that she could say she _didn’t_ like something during sex.

She dropped her gaze, but Solas tipped her chin up. “Nare,” he said firmly. “You must tell me if you want me to stop. That is the only way I will continue. Will you tell me?”

“Yes,” she breathed. 

He gently stroked her cheekbone. “Yes, what?”

She smiled. “Yes, _hah’ren_ ,” she said.

A faint but tender smile lifted his lips. “Good,” he said. Then he pulled her hair once more.

She burst out a surprised and pleasured gasp. An instant later, Solas’s mouth was on her breast. 

She jolted and cried out. He was suckling her nipple firmly, and his free hand was splayed on her ribs just beneath her other breast, and _fenedhis,_ she wanted him to caress her breast so badly. She wanted his fingers on her nipple to soothe the buzzing need that was bringing her nipples to attention, and she wanted his mouth between her legs, and she wanted him to fuck her hard and soothe the yawning pit of want that was roaring deep within the most desperate depths of her body… 

“Please!” she cried. “Solas, please!”

He lapped at her breast and ran his thumb over her other nipple, and she sobbed again and twisted her hips. Then Solas was sitting in one of the padded chairs, sitting right in front of her and sliding his gorgeous artist’s hands down over her belly and over her hips, and he was pulling her closer to the edge of the desk and staring at the juncture of her thighs where she needed him the most, where she needed his mouth and his elegant fingers and his cock… 

He placed his hands on her thighs, and she burst out a gasp. He was stroking the tender skin of her inner thighs, thumbs moving over the slickness that her desperate lust had left behind, and it felt so much better than her feverish memories could ever conjure. And now he was lowering his head between her legs, and his lips were drifting slowly along her inner thigh toward the crux of her heat, and she was getting dizzy from the sheer anticipation of his mouth _there_ where she needed him so fucking badly–

He lifted his head and smiled at her. “Breathe, _da’len_ ,” he said.

She forced herself to inhale, then burst out a breathless laugh. “I can’t,” she said. “I can’t, I– Solas, I really want you.”

His smile widened. “That is quite obvious,” he said, and he smoothed two fingers between her legs. 

A bolt of pleasure tore through her body. He kept slipping his fingers over her flesh in a gentle stroke, and Nare twisted her hips fitfully and moaned. Gods, if just the softest touch of his fingers could feel this good, what was it going to feel like when he put his mouth between her legs?

She didn’t have to wait long to find out. He stroked her pussy for a moment longer, then dipped his head between her legs and kissed her. 

She gasped and clenched her fingers on the desk. Solas tilted his head and swept his lips over her flesh, slow and careful kisses punctuated by gentle little laps of his tongue, and she marvelled at how much it felt like he was kissing her mouth: his lips were firm and sweet, and his tongue was moving like a hot caress up toward her clit, and when he began lapping slowly at the swollen little bud, she couldn't help but shift her hips in time with his tongue. 

He gently squeezed her thighs, then lifted his mouth. “Be patient, Nare.”

“I can’t,” she mewled. “It feels so good…” She jerked her hips pleadingly toward him. 

He chuckled and tilted his head. “Is a moment of pleasure not worth spinning out as long as you can?” he said. He stroked her thigh, then smoothed his fingers over her slick folds.

“Please!” she sobbed. “Please, please Solas, don’t tease me, _please_...” 

“All right,” he murmured. “Since you have asked so nicely.” He kissed her again, then swirled his tongue firmly over her clit. 

She gasped for breath and spread her legs wider so she could watch him. His lips and tongue were moving in tandem, caressing her flesh and massaging her clit, and with every kiss and every pass of his tongue, her pleasure continued to rise. 

And gods save her, the _pleasure_ : it felt so much better than when she was touching herself. The roiling rise of rapture was stronger, surging forward more and more as his lips pulled gently at her clit, and his fingers stroking her sensitive folds made it feel even better. She rocked her hips toward him, rocking them in time with his fingers between her legs, but then he shifted his fingers slightly and – oh gods, oh fuck, he was sliding one finger inside of her–

She cried out and grabbed his free hand, and he lifted his mouth. “Do you want me to stop?”

“No!” she wailed. “No, no, I – don’t stop!” 

He continued to slide his finger inside of her. When his knuckle was flush to her body, she sobbed with pleasure. His finger was resting inside of her like this was where it had always belonged, and – gods, it felt so fucking _good_. The mere presence of Solas’s long and nimble finger inside of her body was already starting to soothe that terrible tension deep inside of her that was constantly roaring to be filled.

She mewled and wiggled her hips. “More!” she begged.

He shook his head and gave her a wry glance. “Need I remind you that I am the teacher here?”

She burst out a laugh, then sobbed again with bliss when he resumed his intimate kisses. “I’m a very – _ah!_ – a very unruly _da’len_ ,” she gasped. 

He shot her another glance, then grinned. “You certainly are,” he said. Then he ran his tongue between her legs once more.

She moaned and rolled her hips toward him, but he kept his finger stubbornly still as he caressed her clit. A minute slid by, a minute during which her breathing grew sharper and the pleasure pulsed more strongly with every movement of his mouth, and it wasn’t long before Nare could barely be bothered to breathe at all. She couldn’t breathe, she didn’t want to breathe, because all of her focus was on Solas’s mouth. Every scrap of her attention, every heartbeat that pounded in her ears: it was all for Solas, all for the pleasure he was bringing her with every lap of his tongue and every open-mouthed kiss that he laid between her legs and every rising pulse of pleasure that was building in her core. It was all for Solas: every part of her, her entire body and her every scrap of will, all of it was his to take–

Her climax suddenly burst, and she cried out. Then Solas slid two fingers inside of her.

She shoved her fist against her mouth and screamed his name into the back of her hand. He was thrusting his fingers carefully inside of her and curling them with every thrust, and she’d never felt anything like this before: like her orgasm was being stretched and strengthened by his fingers inside of her. Like her pleasure was growing greater instead of waning away, and like the only thing that would make her pleasure even greater was Solas himself.

She pushed his hands away, then dropped to her knees in front of him. “Solas,” she gasped. “Fuck me.”

He exhaled heavily. “Nare–”

“Please!” she cried. She rose on her knees and grabbed the collar of his tunic. “Please, Solas, please, I need you, I _need_ you so much I can’t even th-think, I…”

“Nare, wait,” he said. He brushed his thumb over her cheek, and she realized with a jolt that there tears on her cheeks. She hadn’t even realized she was crying. 

It didn’t matter. She tugged on his collar again. “I can’t wait, I can’t, p-please fuck me, please…” 

He clasped her face in his hands. “I can’t,” he said. “Not here.”

“Why?” she cried. “Why not? I want you to, I’m begging you, please…”

“No,” he said loudly. “Not like this.”

A tear ran down her cheek. “Why?” she said plaintively. 

“Because you deserve better than a dusty library,” he told her. He brushed the tear away. “You deserve better than…” He trailed off and bowed his head, and Nare waited with growing desperation for him to speak. 

He looked her in the eye once more, and his expression was oddly weary. “You deserve better,” he said softly. 

“But you _are_ better,” she pleaded. She shuffled closer on her knees. “Solas, you – you’re the only one who’s bothered to make me feel good before.”

His eyes widened. “Wha…? Nare, have I misunderstood? Were you untouched before we–”

“No!” she blurted. “No, no, it’s not that. I just, I – no one ever went down on me before.”

His face went slack with disbelief, then hardened. “You can’t be serious,” he said flatly. “Don’t tell me this is something else the Dalish forgot.”

She burst out a surprised laugh. “Don’t be an ass.”

He winced and ran a hand over his scalp. “Forgive me, I – that was exceedingly thoughtless. But – Nare, this is…” He took her hand and helped her to her feet. Then, to her surprise, he guided her to sit on his knee. 

He tucked a stray lock of hair over her ear. “Never?” he said quietly. “No partner ever offered you this before?”

“No,” she said. “Only you. Being, um, intimate has only ever felt good with you.” She dropped his gaze and nibbled the inside of her cheek. His other arm was curled around her waist, and his thumb was soothingly stroking her hip, and the gentleness of his touch was making her heart flutter for an entirely different reason than sex. 

He shook his head slightly. “I am sorry. That is a terrible waste.”

“A waste?” she said in surprise. 

“A waste of passion,” he said. “Of _your_ passion. Your previous ‘lovers’, if they can even be called that: they did not know what they were missing.”

His lip was curled in the faintest sneer. Nare stared at him with a pounding heart, then took a deep breath to muster her courage. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe it was a waste,” she said. “And… and I don’t want to waste any more time.”

He tilted his head. “How do you mean?”

She swallowed hard. In for a copper, in for a royal, as Varric would say. “I want you,” she said bluntly. “I want to be with you. And not just for… not just sex. I…” 

She trailed off; his expression was growing very tender, and it was difficult for her to look him in the eye. “You’re the only one I’ve ever felt this way about,” she said in a small voice. “I… I know you said you needed to think about… to think about it. But… have you had enough time now? To think?”

“I have had time to think, yes,” he said softly.

She looked at him, and her heart flip-flopped. He was smiling, and his expression was gentle and warm. It would be encouraging if not for the hint of sadness in the tilt of his eyebrows.

“And?” she said tensely. 

He gazed at her silently for a moment, then tucked another small lock of hair behind her ear. “Can we speak in private tonight? In your quarters?”

 _In my quarters?_ she thought with a rush of excitement. Solas had never been in her bedroom before. “Of course,” she blurted. “Is eight o’clock all right?”

“Yes,” he said. “Until then, I suspect you have other things to do.” He grimaced slightly. “Now that I say it, I worry that I’ve interrupted your duties.”

She raised her eyebrows. “Oh. Shit. I was supposed to meet Cullen at eleven o’clock. Am I late?”

Solas rubbed his mouth. “I believe you are, yes.”

“ _Fenedhis,_ ” she swore, and she popped off of Solas’s lap. “Damn, damn…” She grabbed her smallclothes and started pulling them on, then balked. They were completely soaked and cold.

“Perhaps you should leave those off,” Solas said. 

His tone was deadpan. She looked at him, then grinned; he was smirking at her.

She laughed giddily. Creators and Forgotten Ones alike, she’d sorely missed that knowing little smirk of his. “Maybe you’re right,” she said. She dropped her smallclothes and selected her trousers instead. A minute later when she was dressed, she turned to him once more.

“Eight o’clock, then?” she said. 

He nodded, and she beamed at him. Then, before she could lose her courage, she cupped his cheek in her palm and kissed him on the lips. 

He smelled like her musk, and his lips were slightly salty. The visceral reminder of what they’d just done – what _he’d_ just done for her… 

Her breath caught in her throat. Then Solas leaned away from her and brushed her cheekbone with his thumb. “Go on, Nare,” he said. “Go attend to the Inquisition.”

“All right, I’m going,” she said. She gave him a cheeky smile. “Until later, _hah’ren_.”

Just as she’d hoped, he snorted a laugh and rubbed his mouth. Nare grinned, then hurried out of the basement library and up the stairs. She was halfway through the Great Hall before she realized something odd: the door to the library had been unlocked when she’d left. 

She paused, then changed course and went to the rotunda instead. She was unsurprised to find Dorian still lounging on Solas’s couch with a book on his lap. 

He glanced at her dismissively and turned the page. “What happened to you? You look terribly dishevelled.”

 _Smug bastard,_ she thought happily. She folded her arms. “You locked us in,” she accused.

He smirked. “Don’t pretend to be angry; either of you could have unlocked it with five minutes of work. You clearly had other things on your minds.”

Nare smiled. He wasn’t wrong, not in the slightest. “Thank you, Dorian,” she said softly.

He shrugged unconcernedly. “Don’t just thank me. Thank Cole.”

She stared at him in surprise. “Cole?”

Dorian nodded. “How else do you think I knew when to lock and unlock the door? He tipped me off when you were, shall we say, _ready_ to be let out.”

“Oh,” Nare said. “Oh gods.” She covered her heated cheeks with both hands. “Oh, that’s mortifying.”

“You’re happier now,” Cole said suddenly from beside her. “I’m glad.”

She jumped in startlement, then burst out laughing and covered her mouth. Her face was absolutely burning now, and she couldn’t even speak through the laughter. 

Dorian, on the other hand, was speaking to Cole. “Remember, you can’t tell Varric I got you involved in this. He certainly won’t approve.”

Nare wiped a tear of mirth from the corner of her eye and hugged Cole. “Creators, I’m not even sure _I_ approve.”

“Of course you do,” Dorian retorted. “Now please leave, both of you. I’m quite enjoying being the center of attention in the tower here. Everyone is having a lovely time admiring me from the upper levels.”

“All right,” Cole said affably, and he disappeared. 

Nare laughed again, then hurried over to Dorian and hugged him. “Thank you. Really,” she said sincerely. “You’re wonderful, you and Cole both.”

“I know,” Dorian said complacently. “Now leave me to my very serious studies, please.” He idly turned the page of his book. 

Nare chuckled, then left the rotunda with a new spring in her step. When she was halfway to Cullen’s office, however, she realized that she’d forgotten to pick up her smallclothes from the library floor.

She _tsk_ ed at herself, but she wasn’t too concerned. She was sure that Solas would notice her smallclothes and bring them to her quarters tonight when he came to see her.

Then she paused. _Wait a minute,_ she thought. Something had just occurred to her – something that sent a chill down her spine. 

When she’d asked Solas to be with her, he hadn’t actually said he wanted to be with her too. He’d just asked to meet her in her quarters. Was that… was that a bad sign, then? If he wanted to be with her, why wouldn’t he just have said so?

Her warm sense of wellbeing faded into anxiety once more, but she forced herself to continue to Cullen’s office. There was nothing she could do about it now; she had Inquisition duties to tend to, and she’d already slacked off enough for one morning. She couldn’t afford to spend more time with Solas until tonight.

But the thought that he might reject her… This terrible thought scared her more than she could say.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There was a notable absence of Solas's cock in this chapter and I'M SORRY. BUT [spoiler alert] THERE WILL BE COCK IN THE NEXT, I PROMISE.
> 
> I am [Pikapeppa on Tumblr,](https://pikapeppa.tumblr.com/) and Nare's creator and insanely talented artist is [Elbenherz!](https://elbenherzart.tumblr.com/) xoxo


	3. Three Times

###  SOLAS 

Going to Nare’s quarters was a foolish idea.

Solas padded silently up the stairs. With every step he took, he told himself he ought to turn around. He ought to go back to the rotunda and sink his focus into the pile of tomes on his desk. He ought to be learning more about the use and misuse of magic in this world so he could dismantle his most egregious mistake as painlessly as possible. 

But his bare feet kept carrying him forward, and he continued making his way up the stairs to Nare’s quarters. 

It was strange, that: to think that these familiar steps to that familiar spacious bedroom now belonged to Nare, not to him. It wasn’t that Solas was sorry to pass this legacy on to her, not by any means; he had done all that he could with Tarasyl’an Te’las. It was only fitting that any further memories to embed themselves in these ancient stones would be created by the woman who unwittingly bore his mark.

The same woman whose torrid taste still lingered in his mind. 

A pulse of lust dropped into his belly like a gulp of hot soup, and Solas paused on the stairs. It had been several hours since Nare had spread her legs for him on the desk in the basement library, hours since he had gloried in the softness of her lips and the perfect canvas of her skin, and still he was incapable of ejecting the thoughts of her from his mind. 

He ought to turn around. He ought to return to the rotunda and to his studies. 

For a suspended moment of time, Solas stood unmoving on the stairs, paralyzed by the weight of what he knew he ought to do. Then his feet kept carrying him up the steps. 

A minute later, he knocked on the door to Nare’s bedroom. When she opened the door a second later, the smile that bloomed across her face was a mixture of relief and nerves that made his heart ache. 

“Solas!” she breathed. “Come on in.” She hurried up the final set of stairs into the bedroom, and Solas followed her at a more sedate pace. 

He looked around surreptitiously as he stepped into the bedroom proper. The decor was… far different than it had once been. The hearth was in the same place, but Solas had kept his bed on the upper level. And here on the lower level, he had once had a small waterfall that flowed into a tidy little pond and then back _up_ to feed the waterfall itself. It was an elegant and admittedly frivolous piece of magic that fed itself on a perpetual loop, a little project that he’d painstakingly constructed on a particularly lonely night, and it was the one indulgence he had permitted himself to keep throughout the ages. Even when the war against the Evanuris had grown so terrible that he was barely able to spend any time in the privacy of this room, the waterfall had remained intact: an attempt at keeping some peace somewhere, despite the increasing ferocity of the war. 

Now, the miniature waterfall was gone, destroyed like every other subtle work of magic that the Veil had sundered. In its place was a bed: Nare’s bed, made up with simple but comfortable-looking coverlets in shades of aqua and seafoam-green. And standing at the foot of the bed was Nare herself. 

Her expression was apprehensive. Solas tilted his head. “Are you all right?” he asked. 

“Are you staying?” she said bluntly.

He raised his eyebrows. “I beg your pardon?”

She winced. “I – damn it.” She rubbed her arms nervously. “I just… when I asked you if you wanted to be with me, you – you didn’t – um… _fenedhis._ ” She let out a self-deprecating little laugh. “I’m being foolish. I’m sorry. Do you want some coffee? I’ve banished all tea from this room for the rest of the night, don’t worry.” She gestured at the desk, where a tray with a cafetière sat with two cups and saucers. 

Despite her obvious nerves, her smile was hopeful and warm, and her teasing reference to his disdain for tea… Nare really did see him as a normal man. She truly saw him as a friendly companion and not as an ineffable figure of power to be revered or reviled. 

He gazed at her with a terrible sort of warmth in his chest – terrible in that it felt so good. In the space of these few short months, Nare’s companionship had become so dear to him, and he couldn’t fathom how it had happened. No matter how many hours he spent trying to rid his mind of her while painting his murals, or how many nights he spent pondering this problem while lying awake in bed, he hadn’t come any closer to understanding how he had allowed this to happen. How had he become so hopelessly fascinated by a native denizen of this infuriatingly static world? How had he become so thoroughly ensnared by someone whose existence was premised on his greatest mistake? 

Was it possible that the magic of his mark had somehow made her feel more like home to him? Perhaps this was why he had allowed her to become so familiar.

“What were you like before the anchor?” he asked abruptly. 

She blinked, so he pressed on. “Has it affected you?” he said. “Changed you in any way? Your mind, your morals, your… spirit?” 

Nare frowned slightly and nibbled her lip in thought, and Solas turned away to avoid staring at the lushness of her lips. He wandered restlessly toward the west-facing balcony, and Nare followed him. When they were standing on the balcony in the fresh mountain air, she spoke. “I… can’t really say. A lot of things in my life have changed, beyond just having the anchor,” she said. “Travelling on my own, making friends with shemle– er, humans, having people looking at me like a political figure…” She grimaced and leaned her elbows on the balcony railing. “So much has changed since I was with my clan. If I’ve changed, how could I know for sure if those changes are because of the mark, or because of everything else changing too?”

He raised his eyebrows appreciatively. “That’s an excellent point,” he said. Truly, he was impressed by how analytical her answer was. And even with the analytical and accurate nature of her answer, she hadn’t quite answered his question at all. 

It was a masterful response. Wise, careful, open to multiple possibilities… 

His heart throbbed again, and he rubbed his forehead. It was unfathomable, and it shouldn’t be possible, but he couldn’t deny the way she made him feel. He couldn’t keep trying to dodge it. Solas had never been one to bury his head in the sand. He may once have been impulsive and quick to plunge in headfirst, but hiding and dodging from ugly truths? That was not how the Dread Wolf operated. 

Not until recently, at least, with his admittedly juvenile attempts to avoid Nare. Now, as he stood in front of her gazing into her lucid aquamarine eyes, he could not hide from the most terrible truth he’d had to face in several thousand years. 

Nare Lavellan was real. She was incredibly, unfathomably, breathtakingly _real_. And Solas was hopelessly and terribly in love with her. 

She took a small step closer to him. “Solas, is something wrong?”

 _Yes_ , he thought. _I am enthralled by you, and it is the worst thing that could have happened to us both._

He folded his hands behind his back. “You have shown a wisdom I have not seen since… since my deepest journeys into the ancient memories of the Fade,” he told her. “You are not what I expected.”

“What did you expect?” she asked.

 _I expected ignorance,_ he thought. Ignorance was all that he had encountered in the year before his agents had led Corypheus to the orb, after all.

He began pacing slowly on the balcony. “Most people are predictable,” he said. “ _You_ have shown subtlety in your actions. A wisdom that goes against everything I expected.” He rubbed his chin, then forced himself to ask her the question he really didn’t want the answer to. “If the Dalish could raise someone with a spirit like yours, have I misjudged them?”

She pulled a little face and shrugged. “I don’t know, Solas. I didn’t meet the Dalish that you did. I can only speak for my clan, and I like to think they’d have listened to your stories.”

“They are not stories,” he said, more harshly than he intended. “They are memories collected during my journeys in the Fade.”

Her expression grew apprehensive once more. “I know. I didn’t mean… I don’t mean ‘stories’ in a bad way. Any good story is like a pearl, right? Under all the shiny layers, there’s a grain of truth.” She smiled tentatively. “That’s what Deshanna always says, anyway.”

Solas gave her a sharp look. “Is that what you believe, as well?” he said. “That a story represents the truth shrouded in layers of fantasy and misdirection?”

She frowned slightly, and her eyes moved carefully over his face. “You could put it that way, yes,” she said. “But I think Deshanna’s way of saying it sounds nicer.” She offered him a soft and hopeful smile. 

He gazed down at her with an ache in his chest. If only she knew. If only she was aware that some of the most stubbornly held Dalish myths were seeded in a truth so close and so tangible that she could literally touch. 

He bowed his head and turned away from her to pace some more, but she suddenly grabbed his hand. “Solas, please,” she said. “Please don’t leave.”

That was the problem; he hadn’t been trying to leave. It was no longer his intention to leave her room, if he had ever even truly intended to leave. 

“Please,” she said. “Please look at me.”

Her voice was strained now, and Solas finally raised his eyes to her face. Her beautiful face that was bursting with hope and vitality and more wisdom than anyone in this static world had any right to have… 

She took a step closer to him. “I want to be with you,” she said. “I can’t stand the… not knowing. I just – I need to know. Do you…” She took a shaky breath. “Do you want to be with me?”

 _I do,_ he thought. More than anything, he wanted to be with her. But he didn’t have the right. The Dread Wolf had forfeited the right to have anything he wanted the moment he’d saved his people and doomed them in the same catastrophic stroke. 

He released a slow breath. He ought to leave. He ought to take his hand from hers and walk away. 

“It would be kinder in the long run,” he said quietly, almost to himself. Then, against his better judgment, he reached out and cupped Nare’s cheek in his palm. 

Her fingers tightened on his other hand, and Solas brushed his thumb tenderly over her lips. “I should not stay, Nare,” he said softly. “But losing you would–”

Her tongue darted out and flicked over the pad of his thumb.

He froze. Nare’s eyes went wide and darted to his face, and for the space of a heartbeat, they stared at each other. And in the space of that one single heartbeat, that one single pulsing squeeze of his heart, every final feeble barrier he’d been trying to build against her fell into utter ruin.

“Fuck,” she breathed. “Solas, I’m sor–”

He pulled her against his chest and kissed her. 

She let out a little whimper of surprise, but it was swiftly muffled when he coaxed her mouth open and licked her tongue. The next thing he knew, Nare was clutching the collar of his tunic and pressing herself against his front, and his hand was sliding into the thick russet ropes of her hair while his other hand drifted down her spine toward her bottom.

He gripped her buttock and pulled her against his thigh, and she broke his kiss with a gasp. When he gently pulled her hair, she craned her neck back and burst out a single word. “Please!” 

He didn’t reply. He sealed his lips over hers and walked her back toward the balcony railing, and then he was clasping her neck and stroking the line of her jaw and kissing her with all the enthusiasm of a starving man at a feast. 

He nipped gently at her lips and pressed his thigh between her legs. She pulled his tunic and tilted her groin against his thigh, and Solas sighed blissfully into her mouth. The taste of her tongue, the citrus scent of her hair as he threaded it through his fingers… it was every bit as good as he remembered from that scintillating night they’d spent together in her tent, and it was every bit as illicit and ill-advised as the torrid moment they’d spent locked together in the downstairs library this morning. 

And Solas relished it. He sank into her kiss without thinking, without guilt and without bothering to convince himself to stop, because there was no stopping this. There was no point denying the depth of his feelings for her. There was no point trying to push her away, only to have the memories torture him at every moment of the waking day and every second of the dreaming night. Denial was useless, a juvenile attempt to stave off a reality that was better confronted head-on, and if confronting _this_ reality involved the delectable sounds that were trickling from Nare’s lips and the wanton way she was rubbing herself against his thigh, then Solas had no right to complain. 

Her hands left his tunic, and she began fumbling with the laces of her shirt. Solas broke their kiss and took her hands. “Nare, wait a moment.”

She wrested her hands from his and gripped his tunic again. “Don’t go,” she begged. “You can’t – don’t – don’t leave me again, please…”

“It is not my intention to leave,” he said soothingly. “I wish only to speak more of what you told me before. About your other… partners.”

He couldn’t quite shave the disdain from his tone, but Nare didn’t seem to mind; she relaxed and gave him a wry smile. “You want to hear about how I’ve never had good sex even though I’m thirty-one?”

He brushed his thumb fondly over her cheek. She said ‘thirty-one’ as though her handful of years spanned an entire lifetime. “I do,” he said. “It is important, given where we are headed.”

Her tongue darted over her lower lip. “And where _are_ we headed, exactly?” she asked breathlessly.

He smiled faintly, then penned her against the balcony railing and slowly lowered his lips to her ear. “To a state of considerable undress if your restless hands are anything to go by, _da’len,_ ” he whispered. 

She dragged in a raspy breath. Then Solas tipped her chin up and brushed her lower lip with his thumb again. “Tell me what sex was like for you before, Nare. It is important.”

She swallowed hard, then dropped his gaze. “It was… it just wasn’t good. They… I don’t know if it was them or me, but it… I _thought_ I was ready before they, um, entered me.” She shrugged and kept her gaze on the floor. “I suppose I wasn’t actually ready, but I only know that now because you…” She trailed off, then looked him in the eye. “Solas, you make me… I didn’t want any of them like I want you.”

Her cheeks were rapidly turning red, but Solas gazed seriously at her. “You say it didn’t feel good. Did it feel bad?” he asked.

She pressed her lips together and lowered her gaze, and his heart twisted for her. “Were you in pain?” he said softly.

She took a tremulous breath. “I don’t think it was their fault,” she mumbled. “It – it hurt with all of them, so it couldn’t have been their fault, it must have been my–”

“Stop,” he said, quietly but firmly. “I must stop you there. You are _not_ at fault.” He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “If they did not recognize your pain, they were not worthy to touch you.”

Her face crumpled. Solas took a deep breath to quell the sympathetic aching in his throat, then stroked her cheek with his knuckles. “Do you recall what I told you about the nature of magic back in the days of ancient Arlathan?” he said softly. “How new spells would spin out for years untold, echoing and harmonizing with those from countless years before?”

She nodded, and Solas gently brushed a tear from her cheek. “Just as magic could linger in an unending flow, so it was with sensations of a more carnal nature as well.”

She darted a glance at him. “What do you mean?”

“I have seen memories in the Fade,” he said. “Lovers twined together in a perpetual cycle of pleasure, bringing each other to orgasm through delicate touch and words alone.”

She raised her eyebrows. “Touching and talking only?”

“Yes,” he said. “It took time and patience, but these were privileges that our ancient forbears had in plenty.”

“That sounds… incredible,” she said softly. “Like an amazing dream.”

He let out a small laugh. “Yes.”

She gave him a shy smile. Then her expression became sly. “You’ve seen these memories, you say?” she said cheekily. “So you watch people doing more than just dressing their hair, it seems.”

He chuckled, pleased by the return of her humour. “So it would seem,” he said. He tilted his head. “Would you be interested in feeling what this is like?”

Her eyes went wide. “In… in feeling what, exactly?”

“In a climax brought to you through simple talk and touch,” Solas said.

Her face slackened, and Solas watched with satisfaction as her cheeks turned red – but not with embarrassment this time. No, there was nothing embarrassed about the way her spine was straightening and the obvious interest in her aquamarine eyes.

“Is that a yes?” he said mildly.

“Yes,” she blurted. “Yes, absolutely yes.”

He smiled at how eager she was. Then he reached for the laces of her shirt. 

She drew a tiny breath through her parted lips. His body thrilled at the subtle sound, but he forced himself to calmly loosen the laces. He carefully untucked the fabric from her breeches, then raised his gaze to her face.

“Lift your arms,” he said quietly.

She did as he asked, and he carefully pulled the linen shirt up to reveal the planes of her belly. Her breasts were bare beneath the shirt, and by the time he pulled the shirt off and dropped it on the ground, his cock was a rock-hard rod in his breeches, and Nare’s eyes were dark and feverish with want. 

He took a careful breath and looked her in the eye. “If I do anything you dislike, you must tell me right away,” he said. “This is never negotiable. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” she said.

He tilted his head. “Yes, what?”

She arched her spine slightly, drawing his greedy gaze back to her nipples. “Yes, _hah’ren,_ ” she breathed.

He smiled. “Good,” he said, and he continued undressing her. When Nare was naked, Solas stepped back and studied her. 

The fresh mountain air was raising goosebumps on her skin and bringing her nipples to pebbled peaks. The starlight had turned her skin to a lush shade of pearl, and at the apex of her thighs…

Her desperation was obvious, a glossy shine that glazed her cleft and the insides of her thighs, and the mere sight of her wetness was enough to lift a feral sort of hunger in the pit of his belly. He breathed slowly to master the hunger and scanned her slowly from head to toe, then took another small step away from her. 

“I will not lay with you tonight,” he said.

Her face slackened with disappointment. “What?” she blurted. “But–”

He interrupted her. “Not unless you ask me three times.”

She frowned. “Three times? Why…?”

“Because I need you to be certain,” he said. He reached out and lightly stroked the slick inside of her thigh. 

She shuddered at the featherlight touch, and he breathed slowly to calm himself before speaking again. “This is a gift, Nare,” he said quietly. “One that can only be given freely and without qualm. I will accept this gift only if you are completely certain that you are ready to give it.” 

“And what if I asked you to fuck me three times right now?” she said.

He smirked. “Even though I spoke to you of the ebb and flow of pleasure through careful words and gentle touch?” he said. “You wish to curtail that before I have even begun?”

She wilted. “No, _hah’ren_.”

He chuckled. “A wise choice, _da’len_.” Then, very gently, he slid two fingers between her legs.

She bucked her hips and moaned, and Solas greedily enjoyed the needy sound before withdrawing his fingers from her warmth. When she opened her eyes and met his gaze, he licked her sweetness from his fingers.

She pressed her thighs together. “Fuck,” she whined.

Her voice was strained with need, and the restless hunger in his gut stirred once more, but he forced himself to ignore it. He tilted his head at her bedroom. “Go inside and wait for me to join you,” he said.

“How should I wait?” she asked eagerly.

He raised his eyebrows in appreciation. For a woman who had never engaged in such roleplay before, she was adopting it seamlessly. “You should stand,” he said. “Near the couch is fine.” 

She nodded, then practically ran into the bedroom, and Solas followed her more slowly. When he was facing her, he clasped his hands behind his back. 

“ _Ina’lan’ehn,_ ” he said quietly. “You know the meaning of this word, _da’len_?”

She nodded. “It means, um… beautiful.” She smiled awkwardly and dropped his gaze. 

“That is correct,” he said. “But there is another more subtle meaning as well.” He began to pace slowly around her. “It refers also to the manner in which a thing of beauty brings out the finest traits in all that surrounds it.” He stopped behind her, then tucked her hair over her shoulder and brushed his knuckles along the length of her spine. 

She shivered prettily, and Solas leaned in close to her ear. “You are beautiful, Nare. But the reflection of your spirit on those around you is what makes you truly exquisite.”

The tips of her ears were turning pink, but she laughed softly. “You sweet talker,” she said. “You’re just flattering me.”

He paused and tilted his head. “Do you think me to be an idle seducer, Nare?”

“No!” she exclaimed. “No, of course not.”

“I should hope not,” he said. “It is not my intent to shower you in disingenuous flattery.”

She glanced at him over her shoulder. “Oh, Solas, that’s not what I meant. I’m just– ah...” She trailed off, and for good reason; Solas was smoothing his hand over the curve of her bottom. 

He squeezed the supple curve of her butt, then skimmed his fingers from her wrist up to her shoulder. When he trailed the tips of his fingers along the side of her neck, she inhaled shakily and tilted her head to the side.

She seemed to be enjoying his touch and his talking, but in truth, Solas was a bit disappointed in himself. He could see why his words might seem like mere flattery to her; the common tongue of this time was a crude language without any of the inherent magic or lilting fluidity of his native tongue. This language lacked the layers of metaphor that Elvhen words so neatly encompassed, so of course his words didn’t have the proper intended effect: they weren’t the words he truly meant. 

He frowned, then dismissed the quandary for now. He refused to let a foible of language interfere with Nare’s pleasure. He would simply have to get around the linguistic hurdle in a different way. 

He slid his arm around her waist and rested his palm on her belly. She gasped and tilted her head back against his collarbone, and he brushed his lips over her ear once more. “Are you opposed to the use of magic during sex?” he murmured.

“Magic during sex?” she panted. “I… I’ve never – but no, I’m not opposed, not at all.”

“Good,” he said. He slowly slid his hand lower, and when his hand was cupping her sex, he gently pressed his middle finger into her cleft. 

She mewled and jerked her hips, and Solas gently kissed her ear. “Patience, Nare,” he whispered. He traced a tiny pattern between her legs with the tip of his finger, then whispered a word in Elvhen: “ _Isalath’is_.” 

A tiny burst of magic warmed his palm, and a rush of pleasure surged through his body as the glyph took effect. He bit the inside of his cheek to control his reaction, but Nare gasped and arched uninhibitedly into his chest. 

“Solas!” she moaned. “Gods, _fuck_ , I feel so – what is that?” She breathed hard and pressed her bottom back toward his throbbing cock. “What–? How did you…?”

He hastily shifted his pelvis away from her tempting curves. “I linked your desire to mine,” he told her breathlessly. “I can feel your lust, and you can feel mine. We are joined this way until I undo the glyph.”

She moaned and wiggled her hips. “It feels amazing.” 

“I am glad you enjoy it,” he murmured. Then he removed his hand from her body and stepped away from her.

She whimpered and gazed desperately at him as he slowly made his way around her. “Where are you going?”

“Nowhere,” he said. “I simply wish to look at you.” He paused in front of her and clasped his hands behind his back. He perused her slowly, lingering on the rosy peaks of her nipples and the dip of her navel and the lean lines of her thighs as they flowed down to her calves and her pretty little toes, and with every second that he spent staring at her, her desperation surged more strongly through his groin by way of the magical glyph. 

She shifted restlessly and arched her back. “Solas…”

He raised his eyes slowly to her face. “I meant what I said before, _da’len_. You are truly exquisite. Your beauty captured my attention, but your spirit… A single conversation with you, and I was enchanted. Your passion, your curiosity, your open mind…” He reached out and brushed his knuckles over her belly, and when her muscles jumped taut beneath his touch, he smiled. 

He looked up once more into her blazing blue eyes. “You are infinitely tempting,” he told her. “A flame that flickers in my mind when I am attempting to sleep at night, but instead I ruminate on thoughts of you.”

“You think of me at night?” she asked breathlessly.

He gave her a reproving look. “Did you truly think that incident in your tent was the first time I fantasized of you?”

Her jaw dropped and her cheeks turned pink, and Solas smiled faintly. “No, Nare,” he said. “That was not the first time.” He stepped close to her, then gently took her hand and placed it over the bulge in his breeches.

She instantly molded her fingers over his cock. The resulting rush of pleasure raced through his blood, then rushed through him again and again thanks to the glyph that linked them.

Nare whimpered and squeezed his manhood, and Solas shamelessly enjoyed her touch for a moment more before stepping away from her and drawing a deep and bracing breath. His whole body was roaring with hunger, but he couldn’t sate it yet; he couldn’t sate himself on the infinite feast of Nare’s passion until she asked him three times to take her. 

“Solas,” she begged. “I want to touch you…”

“Not until you come, _da’len_ ,” he said firmly, both as a reminder to her and to himself. “You must come for me first. I want you to think about me wrapping my fingers around my cock.”

He balked mentally at his own clumsy words; he couldn’t decide if they sounded seductive or silly in the common tongue, but Nare seemed more than pleased: the minute the word _cock_ left his mouth, Nare’s reflected pleasure pulsed deep down in his belly. 

“Mhmm,” she moaned. “More, please…”

 _Ah, good,_ he thought. He began slowly circling her again. “I want you to think about my hand sliding along the length of my cock,” he said. “Imagine me dreaming of you while I grip myself, wishing it was your hand instead.” He reached out and brushed his thumb over her nipple.

She jerked at his touch. “Yes,” she moaned. “Yes, please, I want to…”

He stopped behind her once more and wrapped his fingers around her throat, and she arched her spine with a gasp. 

He brushed his thumb along her neck. “Think of this, Nare,” he said. “Focus on my hand here on your neck.” He stepped closer to her, then pressed his groin against the cleft of her ass and gently squeezed her throat.

She mewled and twisted her hips fitfully. Her pleasure surged through the glyph they shared, and he released a shaky sigh before doggedly resuming his talk. “Think of me taking you from behind,” he murmured. “How it would feel for me to fill you up and spill my… seed inside of you.” He squeezed her throat once more and pumped his hips teasingly against the bare curves of her ass. 

She sobbed and pressed her hips back toward him. She was near, so near to the precipice of her own pleasure, and if he spoke to her just so… 

He nipped her earlobe and pressed his hips to the curves of her behind. “Are you thinking of this, Nare?” he rasped. “Are you thinking about me fucking you?”

She shuddered and cried out suddenly, and Solas gasped: her climax had finally struck, and it was shivering through both of them in tandem. 

“ _Ah_ , y-yes!” she cried. She strained back against his chest and dug her nails into his wrist, and he squeezed his eyes shut in ecstasy: her peak was pulsing through his body, pouring through his abdomen like a scintillating burst of bliss, and he groaned helplessly as Nare shuddered against his chest. 

“Fuck me!” she cried.

He forced himself to take a deep breath. His cock was pounding from the referred pleasure of her climax, and he was desperate to do as she asked, but he couldn’t – not yet. 

Not until she asked it of him three times.

“That is once, Nare,” he said, in the calmest tone he could manage. “You have now asked me once.”

She gasped in another breath and nodded, and Solas released her throat and stepped away from her. The moment he released her, she fell to her knees in front of him and reached for his belt. 

His cock jerked in his breeches, but he hastily took her hands in his. “Patience, Nare,” he scolded. 

“Let me suck you!” she blurted. She shuffled closer on her knees. “I want your cock, Solas, I – I want you in my mouth, please…”

He raised his eyebrows. “Is that a command, or a request?”

“A – it’s a…” She broke off and gazed pleadingly up at him. “Please, _hah’ren_ , I want… can I suck your cock?”

“Yes,” he said. With slightly shaking fingers, he unbuckled his belt and pulled his tunic over his head. He stripped as efficiently as he could without making a fool of himself like an untried youth, but in truth, he was feeling like exactly that: an eager and untried youth bursting with enthusiasm and hunger and barely a thread of discipline, and the reflection of Nare’s voracious hunger through the glyph wasn’t helping matters. 

He finally shucked his breeches, and Nare whimpered and crawled toward him. “Please, _hah’ren…_ ” 

“Not yet,” he told her. He sat gracefully on the couch, then took his manhood in his fist. 

Her eyes grew wide, then wider still when he ran his fist along his length, and he couldn’t decide whether the accompanying pulse of pleasure in his gut came from himself or from her. He stroked himself three more times, and when Nare was mewling and writhing her hips like a cat in heat, he finally gave in.

He patted the couch beside him. “Lay here on your belly,” he instructed. 

She jumped to her feet and obeyed him, stretching out on the couch and resting her palms on his thigh and his hip. Before he could give her any further instructions, she took his cock deep into her throat. 

Shocked and thrilled, he groaned and jerked his hips, and Nare mewled around his length. Then she was suckling him with deep, quick strokes, her lips firm around his shaft and her fingers digging into his thigh, and it felt – _fenedhis,_ it was good, too damned good, far too good and too fast, and his pleasure was rising and hers was rising too and she was grinding her hips unconsciously against the couch as she suckled him, and –

And it was too much. “Slow down, _da’len,_ ” he gasped. He ran his palm gently over her hair, then began gathering her hair in his hands. 

She whimpered and continued suckling him, so Solas gently pulled her hair.

She released his cock with a gasp. “Please!” she sobbed. “Please, _hah’ren_ , let me...” 

“Slowly, Nare,” he said in a firm tone. “Go slowly. There is no need to rush. We have time.” 

She whimpered and pressed her hips into the couch, and her nails bit into his hip. “But I waited so long, I’ve been waiting, I–” 

He pulled her hair again, more firmly this time. “Slowly,” he said, very quietly. “Will you obey me, _da’len_?”

She sobbed again but nodded her head, and Solas lessened his hold on her hair. As soon as his fingers loosened in her hair, she took him in her mouth once more, but the heated strokes of her lips and throat were deep and slow this time.

Solas sighed blissfully and flexed into her lips. The pleasure was just as great but less urgent now, and he was better able to concentrate on Nare’s pleasure as well. He slid his free hand over her shoulder, then down along the smooth curve of her spine. 

He lovingly ran his palm over her bottom, and she jerked and moaned into his cock. Riled and encouraged, he stroked the smooth globes of her bottom until she was writhing, then slid his hand lower still and smoothed his fingers over her inner thigh.

She jerked again and released his cock just long enough to let out a feral little cry, and Solas groaned as his pleasure surged in time with hers. Her slickness was smeared across the inner margins of her thighs, and he had no doubt that it would grace the couch as well when they eventually stood. 

He slid his hand back up to stroke her bottom, and Nare arched her spine and began sucking him faster. 

Solas gasped in a breath and pulled her hair. “Slowly, _da’len,_ ” he groaned. 

She obeyed him, but arched her spine further and wiggled her hips, and Solas squeezed her buttock. She moaned, and he clenched his jaw to stifle his own pleasured moan: her desire was so acute and tense that he could feel it through the glyph. Her fingers were digging into his thigh and his hip, and as he continued to caress her ass, she strained to lift her hips toward his hand… 

So Solas followed his instinct and spanked her.

It was a small spank, just enough to feel a hint of sting through his palm, but Nare suddenly released his cock and cried out, and Solas gasped helplessly as her pleasure mirrored itself through his limbs. 

“Solas, fuck me!” she wailed. 

He forced his eyes open and dragged in a breath. “That is two times,” he gasped. “You have asked me twice now, Nare.”

She moaned and nodded, then dipped her head low and slid her lips over the head of his cock, but Solas stopped her with his hand on her chin. “Enough now,” he panted. “On your hands and knees, _da’len._ ”

She sobbed with frustration but did as he asked, and a moment later she was on all fours on the couch while Solas stood beside the couch and stared at her, trying desperately to calm the inferno of desire that was raging at him from deep inside his gut.

He breathed deeply to try and cool his desire, but it was impossible – no, that wasn’t true. It wasn’t impossible; Solas just didn’t _want_ to cool it. This desire, this sheer and breathtaking lust, the way he felt when Nare looked at him and touched him and wrapped her lips around his aching cock, like a current of lightning and heat and pleasure was rippling just beneath his skin: it was a gift, a blessing he hadn’t realized he was missing, and he didn’t want to give it up. 

He hadn’t felt such passion in years. He hadn’t been this lustful in decades, and he hadn’t felt this alive in even more centuries before that. Before the casting of the Veil had stolen his reserves and cast him into a forced uthenera, his life had been a series of catastrophes one after the next, each requiring as logical and passionless a solution as he could manage despite his rage and grief. It wasn’t until now, while staring at the breathtaking sight of Nare’s naked and willing body, that he realized the toll that the constant war had taken.

He hadn’t been alive when he’d fallen into that dark and dreaming sleep, not truly. He had been a shell of a man, a lifeless shell driven by the duality of vengeance and justice, and it wasn’t until now that he remembered what it was to be alive. 

It wasn’t until this moment, with this flame-haired woman splayed before him with her heart in her ocean-blue eyes, that Solas remembered what it was like to truly be alive.

“Solas, please,” she begged. “Please touch me.”

He drew a bracing breath and took a small step closer to her. “How should I touch you, _da’len?_ ” he said.

She glanced over her shoulder at him. “Will you… will you lick me, _hah’ren?_ ”

Her cheeks were starting to pinken from the bold request, and Solas smiled faintly at her. “There is nothing I would like more than to taste you,” he said. He ran his palm over her bottom again. “Spread your legs further. Let me look at you.”

She placed one foot on the floor and twisted her hips toward him. Solas swallowed hard, then slowly lowered himself to his knees behind her and ran his palms up the backs of her thighs.

She mewled and arched her spine, and a crystalline strand of desire dripped from her fragrant flesh down toward the floor. 

A roar of approval surged through his blood, rendering him lightheaded, and he forced out a breath. “ _Veraisa,_ ” he murmured.

She glanced at him over her shoulder. “What does that mean?” she asked.

He tore his eyes away from her pussy. “It means ‘temptress’,” he explained. “One who inspires an endless depth of desire.”

She laughed. “I’m not a temptress!”

He shook his head slightly. “Nare, you cannot fathom the depths to which you tempt me,” he said softly. He lifted his hand and slid two fingers over her slippery folds.

She mewled again and bucked her hips, and Solas splayed his palm on her ass to hold her still. “Every shift of your body is a temptation,” he said. “Every time you speak, every time you laugh – you are tempting me more than you realize.” Nare tempted him, and as playful as he made this sound, it was a hard and brutal truth. Solas had never encountered a more delectable and dangerous temptation than Nare, and part of her danger was that she didn’t realize just how dangerous she was. Without even realizing what she’d done, she had lured him into seeing this world as more than just a deadened place. She had made him see these people as more than walking husks, and she shone with a sort of hope he hadn’t encountered in centuries. 

Nare had tempted him to love her, and Solas had fallen directly into the honeyed trap of her arms. And yet, despite the dangers and the pain that was likely to come, he couldn’t bring himself to let her go. 

It was selfish and unfair and exceedingly unwise, but he couldn’t let her go. 

He tilted his head and pressed his lips between her legs, and she cried out the instant he touched her with his mouth. He braced his palms on her thighs and lapped at her wetness, enjoying her nectar just as much as he had this morning, and when Nare began rocking her hips back to meet his mouth, his enjoyment surged even higher. 

He angled his head and caressed her clit with his lower lip, and she bucked her hips and sobbed. “Fuck, _please,_ more of that…” 

He smiled at her shameless request. It would never fail to amuse him how vocal she was in the throes of her pleasure compared to her shyness at the start and end of their carnal episodes. 

He lapped at her clit and teased the swollen little nub with his lower lip until she was writhing, then kissed the precious bud and suckled it _very_ gently. 

Nare gasped and clenched her fingers in the cushions of the couch. “Creators, _yes_!” she yelped. “Solas, p-please, that–”

He continued to gently suckle her clit, teasing her in between with long strokes of his tongue for the sheer pleasure of hearing her breathe his name, and all the while he could feel her pleasure building and surging through the glyph he’d traced between her legs. When she was right at the edge of her climax, he felt it between his legs and in the tension of her thighs beneath his palms. When she finally hit her peak, she arched her spine and cried out, and Solas lapped her clit and slid one finger deep inside of her. 

She jerked and let out a wild wordless cry, and Solas moaned helplessly into her flesh. He _felt_ her, felt her orgasm as it pulsed through her belly and her thighs, and when he curled his finger carefully inside of her, it kicked their shared pleasure higher still. 

He moaned again, then leaned away from her and gasped for breath, his eyes fixed shamelessly at the joining of his finger with her dew-slicked folds. Then Nare suddenly shifted away from him. 

She fell to her knees on the floor in front of him and grabbed his shoulders. “Please,” she sobbed. “Please, Solas, fuck me!”

His cock throbbed eagerly, but he clasped her wrists and looked her in the eye. “That was three times, Nare,” he said seriously. “Are you certain that you want this?”

“Yes!” she cried. “Yes, yes, I’m sure, I’m so sure – Solas, take me!”

He paused for a split second. _Take me._ Like that foolish Dalish curse – _may the Dread Wolf take you…_

Nare clasped his neck in her palms and kissed him hard, and Solas opened his mouth to welcome the sleek thrust of her tongue. She tilted her head and aggressively slanted her lips over his, and Solas permitted her lusty kiss for a moment before reaching down and palming her ass. 

She gasped against his lips, and Solas took full advantage to thrust his tongue into her mouth. She pressed her breasts to his chest and clenched her nails in his collarbones, then broke from his lips with a moan when he rubbed his cock against her belly. 

She pressed her hips toward him. “Solas, please, _please_ –”

“Lie on the bed,” he said.

Nare’s eyes widened, and he couldn’t blame her. His voice was rough and tense, and he sounded unlike himself – almost like a feral version of himself, in fact, but this only seemed to rile her further: she whimpered and clawed his chest and twisted her hips toward him, almost like she was devolving into something feral and wild herself.

He sealed her lips with another kiss, and she moaned into his mouth and grabbed his cock. He gasped, then thrust his tongue back into the precious heat of her mouth, but she was stroking his cock and trying to push his shaft between her legs even though the angle of their kneeling bodies was far too awkward for them to meld, and – _fenedhis_ , he needed to wrest control of this situation before he lost it entirely. He needed to regain control before he did something hasty, like shove her down on the carpet and fuck her like the bestial roar of want in his belly was begging him to do. 

He pushed her away with one hand on her hip, but she whined and grabbed at his shoulders again. _Veraisa,_ he thought, exasperated and riled in equal measure. He reached up and firmly gripped her chin. “Go lie on the bed, _da’len,_ ” he said roughly. “Now.”

“Yes, _hah’ren_ ,” she blurted.

He released her chin. She jumped to her feet and ran over to the bed, and Solas swiftly followed her. She crawled onto the mattress, but before she could turn over onto her back, he crawled onto the bed behind her and placed his palm between her shoulder blades.

“Lie down,” he said, and he pressed gently on her back. 

She did as he asked and laid flat on her belly. Solas brushed her hair aside so he could admire the side of her face and the naked canvas of her back, then slid his palm slowly along the center of her back and down toward her bottom. 

She whimpered softly and arched her spine, lifting her hips slightly in the process, and Solas forced himself to breathe through the mind-numbing haze of lust that was threatening to blind him. She was so beautiful, the perfect combination of pliant and wanton: she followed his every carnal command while actively demanding more, matching his every action with the most exquisitely pleasured reactions that a corporeal body could provide, and… 

And it was all for him. Nare wanted him. By her own confession, Solas was the only person she had ever wanted with this degree of sheer desperate desire. 

She wanted _him_. In this deadened world where apostates were reviled and his kin from the Fade were feared, Nare had listened to him and heard his stories and told him stories of this world in turn. She smiled at him, and she debated with him without writing him off, and now she was here, naked and stretched out on her belly and begging him to touch her with the twisting of her bare body. The scent of her, the sound of her whimpering voice, the complete and uninhibited acceptance that was implied by her willing and submissive pose: she was so raw, so visceral and tangible and real–

She was real. _Fenedhis,_ she was more real than anything or anyone he’d encountered in all his time here – no, longer than that: she was the most real, genuine, guileless person he had known since before he was Fen’Harel. 

He exhaled shakily, stunned and overwhelmed by lust and adoration and grief and confusion, but the lust soon surged back to the fore as Nare restlessly lifted her hips.

She arched her spine again, and Solas’s eyes fell to the apex of her thighs – the fragrant and shining apex of her thighs where the glyph he’d traced was channeling her desperation straight to his cock.

“Solas, please,” she mewled. “What are you waiting for?”

He dragged his eyes back up to her face. “I’m not waiting,” he said. “I am watching.”

“Watching what?” she panted.

“You, of course,” he said. “The shifting of your body is like a tidal wave of lust. It is a sight to behold.” He reached up and tenderly stroked her hair. “You think you were to blame for your lack of pleasure in the past, but I assure you that the fault was entirely theirs.”

She stilled and dropped his gaze. “I don’t know about that. I–”

“You misunderstand me,” Solas interrupted. “This is not a question that is up for debate. This is a fact.”

She glanced at him again with wider eyes, and he stroked her hair again. “You are perfect, Nare,” he murmured. “Every part of you, exactly as you are. The precise shade of your eyes, the silk of your hair, the velvet of your skin: you are beautiful, and you are perfect. You are… passion,” he said slowly. “You embody it. It is evident in every movement of your body and every word you speak. It is not your fault that they failed to reveal this facet of who you are.” He smoothed his palm over her back and her bottom, then reached between her legs and petted the wetness there.

She gasped and jerked her hips, and his glyph flared with a fresh bolt of pleasure. Solas inhaled carefully and continued to brush his fingers between her legs. “This is part of who you are,” he told her. “This desire that you feel? The way you want to be touched–”

“I want _you_ to touch me,” she interrupted. “Only you. You’re the only one I – I want _you._ ”

A fresh pang of gratitude and grief squeezed his heart. To be wanted by someone like her — someone bursting with hope and youth and optimism, all the things he had long thought lost… 

He shunted the melancholy aside and stroked her wetness. “This is for me, _da’len_? This desire that is dripping between your legs is for me?”

“Yes,” she breathed.

“And the curve of your spine?” he asked. He stroked her back with his free hand and rested his palm on her bottom. “The way your back is arched, like a bow that is ready to spring. Is that for me as well?”

“Yes, yes _hah’ren_ , yes!” she cried. Her voice was strained as she rocked her hips back toward his fingers, and Solas forced himself to breathe as he stared at her. She was wet and shining and ready, ready and waiting for him to take her, and the glyph between her legs was positively pulsing from the strength of her desire. 

He took his cock in his hand and slid his shaft teasingly between her folds. She jerked and clenched her fists in the covers, and Solas hissed in a breath. She was hot and slick and waiting, and the mere touch of her heat against his shaft the most pleasurable torture… 

He reached out and pulled gently on her shoulder, and she obediently raised herself onto her elbows. Then Solas slid his fingers around her throat.

She gasped and bucked her hips, and he hissed in another breath as his shaft glided teasingly through the slickness of her flesh. “Is this what you want, Nare?” he asked, and he gently squeezed her throat. 

“Yes!” she cried.

“You are ready for me?” he said. “You are ready for this?” His voice sounded rough and feral again, but he didn’t care; Nare was writhing and clawing at the bed, and the glyph between her legs was pulsing so hard that he could barely concentrate on anything else. 

He slid his cock along the length of her cleft once more, and she jolted and mewled. “Yes, yes!” she whined. 

He squeezed her throat again. “Yes, what?” he demanded. 

“Yes, _hah’ren!_ ” she wailed. “I’m empty without you, _please!_ ” 

_Empty._ That was how he had felt, before Nare reminded him what it was to be alive. Before she had appeared in his life, an accidental side-effect of his latest disaster, and shown him in the most wonderful and terrible ways that this world was worth far more than he thought.

His heart twisted, and he dragged in a bittersweet breath. “Then I will give you what you have been demanding,” he said huskily. And finally, at long last, Solas gave himself to Nare.

He gently gripped her throat, and slowly, _very_ slowly so as to savour every long-awaited second, he slid inside of her. 

She let out the most beautiful little mewl, and Solas groaned out loud. She was so tight and slick and blissfully warm, and he shuddered helplessly at how exquisitely _good_ she felt. He breathed slowly and pushed himself deeper, and before he was halfway hilted, Nare was panting desperately for air. By the time his hips were flush to the smooth curves of her ass, she was clawing at the bed and crying out in a strained and breathy voice, and the vicarious feeling through the glyph…

Nare was already at the edge of climax. From a single blissful stroke, she was nearly ready to come. 

Slowly, torturously slowly, he withdrew from her, and she moaned and twisted her hips. “Solas, please–”

“Be patient, Nare,” he breathed. He slid into her once more. 

She cried out and shivered, and Solas forced himself to breathe. She was teetering right on the edge of ecstasy, and he could _feel_ the threshold of that ecstasy through the glyph between her legs, and if he did this right – if he moved inside of her in exactly the right way… 

“P-please,” she whimpered. “Please, please, I need you…”

He squeezed her throat and entered her in a long, smooth stroke, and she came.

She gripped the covers and let out a loud and visceral cry, and Solas cried out in turn as her tightness gripped him and her pleasure reverberated through his body. Her climax was a deep and throbbing pulse, as though her entire body was spasming from the crux of her thighs all the way down to her toes, as though Solas truly had filled a part of her that had been aching and empty, and he squeezed his eyes shut and clenched his jaw at the sheer intensity of it. By the time the crashing waves of Nare’s pleasure began to wane, she was sweat-laced and shaking and sobbing with pleasure. 

“Solas,” she gasped. “I’ve never… that was the first time I…” She trailed off with another sob, and Solas dropped a tender kiss on her back. 

“I know, _da’len_ ,” he murmured. “Take your time.” He caressed her back with his lips as she trembled and tried to breathe, and when her shaking began to wane, he carefully pulled out of her.

She cried out and reached for him. “No! No, please, I need more–”

He stroked her hip. “Turn over,” he said huskily. “I wish to look at you.” 

She swiftly turned over onto her back, and Solas stretched himself over her. He clasped her hands, then slid himself teasingly through her heat once more. 

She arched her neck and sobbed. “Please, please, don’t tease me, I c-can’t – I need you, Solas, please don’t tease me– _ah!_ ” 

Solas sheathed himself inside of her in one swift stroke. She threw her head back and cried out sharply, and Solas silenced her pleasured cry with a kiss. For a mindless, blissful time, he rocked into her and caressed her tongue with his own, and when she was rolling her hips up to meet him, he peeled himself away from her lips. 

“Passion,” he panted, and he thrust into her again. “Never forget, Nare. Never doubt that this is who you are.” 

“For _you_ ,” she gasped. “You’re the only – Solas, only you know me like this. I…” She trailed off as another trickle of tears ran down the side of her face, and through the rising wave of his pleasure, he could feel a bittersweet warmth rising in his chest. 

He knew what she had meant to say. He knew what she felt, because he felt it too. Through the conversations they’d had, through the passion they had shared and were continuing to share right now, Solas felt as though Nare knew him – truly _knew_ him, even though she didn't and couldn’t know everything that there was to know. Nare knew his mind and the feral hunger that he had long thought lost. She knew his esoteric interests and she knew his quixotic moods, and she wanted him anyway.

He kissed her again and rolled his hips, and Nare moaned into his mouth, and in a matter of moments they were breathing and fucking each other in a frenzy of rapidly rising rapture. Her palms were hot and sweaty against his own, and he was pumping into her in a driving rhythm and savouring her every gasping moan, and at the moment that his climax finally crashed over him, he had no resistance left to stop the words from leaving his mouth. 

He shuddered and groaned, then pressed his forehead to hers. “ _Ar lath ma, vhenan,_ ” he whispered. 

She gasped and squeezed his hands. “Solas, I–”

He cut her off with a kiss. When his climax ebbed away, leaving him boneless and spent, he finally lifted himself from her lips. 

She gazed up at him with those big guileless blue eyes. “Did you mean that?” she breathed. “That you…” She faltered and dropped her gaze, and Solas smiled at the inevitable return of her shyness. 

“That I love you?” he supplied. He brushed his thumb tenderly along the edge of her face. “I do mean it, yes.”

“Then why…?” She stopped herself once again and nibbled her lip.

Solas shifted onto the mattress beside her and soothingly stroked her belly. “Speak your mind, Nare. Never feel that you can’t speak your mind to me.”

She nervously licked her lips, then glanced at him once more. “Why were you avoiding me, then?” she said in a small voice. “I thought you didn’t want me.”

He gazed at her with an aching sort of fondness. “It wasn’t a lack of desire that prompted my childish behaviour. Quite the opposite,” he said softly. “I avoided you because…” He sighed and told her a very simple version of the truth. “Because you are a _da’len_ , and I am a _hah’ren_.”

“What’s wrong with that?” she said. “I like that you have things to teach me. Besides, you aren’t that much older than me.”

 _If only you knew,_ he thought sadly. But Nare was blithely pressing on. “Besides, don’t you like being my _hah’ren_?” She gave him a cheeky little smile, but he could see the insecurity in the tilt of her eyebrows.

He skimmed his knuckles over her cheek. “I do. More than you know,” he replied. Even as a young _elgar’venathe_ , he had always enjoyed teaching others and sharing his knowledge. And now, sharing in this kind of carnal knowledge with such an eager and exquisite pupil as Nare was better than the finest dream.

Her smile softened with relief. “Good,” she said. “Because I like it too.”

“Do you?” he said. “I couldn’t tell.”

She shot him a sideways look, then burst out a laugh, and Solas admired the pinkening of her cheeks. “You’re teasing me,” she said.

He smiled at her and tweaked a strand of her hair. “How can I not, when you turn such an endearing shade of pink?”

Nare laughed again, then rolled onto her side to face him and stroked his cheek. “I love you too, Solas,” she murmured.

He smiled at her and didn’t reply; there was no need to speak, not when the happiness in her eyes was a mirror of his own heart. He skimmed his palm along the curve of her hip, enjoying the simple pleasure of having someone so close and so dear whose bare skin was his to stroke.

Then Nare shuffled closer and tucked her head beneath his chin, just as she’d done that night they’d slept together in his bedroll, and Solas closed his eyes against a sudden burn of tears. In this moment, with Nare’s bare body wrapped in his arms and wreathed in the fragrant afterglow of their sex, he was happier than he had been in far longer than he could remember. 

And this happiness — this simple, undeserved happiness — scared him more than he could say.

He sighed softly and pressed his lips to her citrus-scented hair. He was Fen’Harel, the Dread Wolf of elven legend, and in time he would be forced to assume that mantle again. But for now, he was simply Solas: a mild-mannered apostate with a passion for the Fade and a weakness for one red-haired woman named Nare.

For now, he was simply Solas, and he would enjoy the delicious simplicity of being a man in love.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Elvhen words, compiled from FenxShiral’s fantastic lexicon:
> 
>  _Isalath’is_ : literally ‘intense lust’. This is the spell Solas used to cast that glyph.  
>  _Elgar’venathe_ : a spirit who adopted a corporeal form, like Cole. Literally ‘walking spirit’. 
> 
> I am [Pikapeppa on Tumblr](https://pikapeppa.tumblr.com/), writer and lover of the Dread Egg! Nare Lavellan belongs to [Elbenherzart,](https://elbenherzart.tumblr.com/) an incredible and talented artist and friend. xoxo


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